Life can be so beautiful...
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
I Exist - From my sleepy hollow...
l thought l would sleep on today, there wasnt a reason to get up early, all l would do is go on the computer, nothing would get done, so l just slept on.
Finally my tired old back said, l cant lay here anymore, we must get up, so l did. l rolled over to the side of the bed, placed my feet on the carpet, leveled them out, and sat up as straight as l could. l opened my eyes, blinked, and looked around at the level of light in my room. l looks like afternoon. l then attempted to stand, holding onto the wall, until my body balanced on my overworked feet, l leant against the wall for more balance.
l started around the bed to the bathroom, not feeling that l needed to, because l had been up several times in the last six hours of sleep.
The afternoon sun was pouring through my high windows, and l smiled.
Next l had to turn the cpap off, organise those pieces, and then around the old huge bed, and into the kitchen.
l pressed the button for the heater, opened the lounge window a little, then into the kitchen.
l put the coffee on, and then over to the computer, turned it on, and allowed it time to heat up...
All of a sudden it started to rain on my south windows! l looked a little closer, its hail! shut the windows, and watched for a bit while the coffee was perking and the puter was heating.
Rain looks lovely running down a window.
So back into the kitchen, and made the coffee, put on some toast and back to the puter.
l rang mum, cos she has an ear problem that makes her dizzy, and she has to take several stemitel...sp.. and if she doesnt get it in time, shes in bed. she got it in time. poor mum...shes seventy eight this year, and still fiesty.
dads just waiting for his right hip to slip out he says...yesterday he felt like ninety five instead of eighty four...
Okay, back to make the second coffee, take the pills.
lve decided l will do a course of B12..l do feel better for it.
and of course the diabetic pills metformin. l dont think theyre doing anything, but the dr says keep taking them.
l mean, if l behave, lm a normal number...l dont need the pills , but l shall do as lm told.
lve been taking lovan for over a decade now, and seem to be addicted to them, they do cut my stress and panicky feelings..so l take them. l have however again almost stopped the muralax, - muscle relaxents, although l cheated last night, and took half a one.
The hail stopped shortly after it began, and the afternoon sun came out, l silently laughed to myself, and said, phtt, melbourne.
Soon l shall start on the basic chores, and shower, and be ready for whatever the evening brings me.....it doesnt bring me much at all lol of late, but its nice to be clean and fresh, even if its just for me.
...
Finally my tired old back said, l cant lay here anymore, we must get up, so l did. l rolled over to the side of the bed, placed my feet on the carpet, leveled them out, and sat up as straight as l could. l opened my eyes, blinked, and looked around at the level of light in my room. l looks like afternoon. l then attempted to stand, holding onto the wall, until my body balanced on my overworked feet, l leant against the wall for more balance.
l started around the bed to the bathroom, not feeling that l needed to, because l had been up several times in the last six hours of sleep.
The afternoon sun was pouring through my high windows, and l smiled.
Next l had to turn the cpap off, organise those pieces, and then around the old huge bed, and into the kitchen.
l pressed the button for the heater, opened the lounge window a little, then into the kitchen.
l put the coffee on, and then over to the computer, turned it on, and allowed it time to heat up...
All of a sudden it started to rain on my south windows! l looked a little closer, its hail! shut the windows, and watched for a bit while the coffee was perking and the puter was heating.
Rain looks lovely running down a window.
So back into the kitchen, and made the coffee, put on some toast and back to the puter.
l rang mum, cos she has an ear problem that makes her dizzy, and she has to take several stemitel...sp.. and if she doesnt get it in time, shes in bed. she got it in time. poor mum...shes seventy eight this year, and still fiesty.
dads just waiting for his right hip to slip out he says...yesterday he felt like ninety five instead of eighty four...
Okay, back to make the second coffee, take the pills.
lve decided l will do a course of B12..l do feel better for it.
and of course the diabetic pills metformin. l dont think theyre doing anything, but the dr says keep taking them.
l mean, if l behave, lm a normal number...l dont need the pills , but l shall do as lm told.
lve been taking lovan for over a decade now, and seem to be addicted to them, they do cut my stress and panicky feelings..so l take them. l have however again almost stopped the muralax, - muscle relaxents, although l cheated last night, and took half a one.
The hail stopped shortly after it began, and the afternoon sun came out, l silently laughed to myself, and said, phtt, melbourne.
Soon l shall start on the basic chores, and shower, and be ready for whatever the evening brings me.....it doesnt bring me much at all lol of late, but its nice to be clean and fresh, even if its just for me.
...
Monday, July 13, 2009
I REFLECT...
I REFLECT. july 09.
As l travel through a quiet day of gentleness,
warm in front of my fire, l reflect.
l no longer mourn the past, or the people l no longer see.
l still love to hear a good blues, soothing slow guitar, hammond organ,bass,and a good drummer.
l have had a good life,
had a few falls, but not deep enough that l couldnt get out.
l wonder sometimes, how l got this far in life.
l am one step away from poverty, l hold fast.
l am very grateful for a roof over my head,
and a bed to sleep in.
l have given up complaining about the little things.
l have finally started thinking about others, and how their lives arent easy either.
l love to understand now.
l walk through life quietly...
lm half way through life, and yet l still feel young.
age seems to be but a number.
l reflect. There are no regrets.
l still have another fifty years to enjoy.
So l sit and think of what has been,
and make plans for what will be.
As l travel through a quiet day of gentleness,
warm in front of my fire, l reflect.
l no longer mourn the past, or the people l no longer see.
l still love to hear a good blues, soothing slow guitar, hammond organ,bass,and a good drummer.
l have had a good life,
had a few falls, but not deep enough that l couldnt get out.
l wonder sometimes, how l got this far in life.
l am one step away from poverty, l hold fast.
l am very grateful for a roof over my head,
and a bed to sleep in.
l have given up complaining about the little things.
l have finally started thinking about others, and how their lives arent easy either.
l love to understand now.
l walk through life quietly...
lm half way through life, and yet l still feel young.
age seems to be but a number.
l reflect. There are no regrets.
l still have another fifty years to enjoy.
So l sit and think of what has been,
and make plans for what will be.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Juana lnes de la Cruz
 | Juana Inés de la Cruz | for everyone |
| Category: | Other |
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sor_Juana
....
Sor Juana was born (November 12, 1658. Some biographers record her birth year as [1648,] – April 17, 1695).
She was known as Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, and also by her full name: Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz de Asbaje (or Asuaje) y Ramírez de Santillana
Sor Juana was a self-taught Novohispana scholar, nun, poet, and a writer of the Baroque school. Though she lived in a post-conquest era when Mexico was colonized by Spain, she is considered a Mexican writer, and a precursor to later Mexican literature.
Life and Literary Production
During a time when bloodlines strictly dictated class and status, Juana de Asbaje y Ramirez Santillana began life as the illegitimate daughter of a nobleman. Her mother came from the small village of San Miguel de Nepantla, near Amecameca (modern-day México State). Her grandfather had acquired property there, and so Juana was raised in village life.
She was a gifted child who hid in the hacienda chapel to read her grandfather's books from the adjoining library, something forbidden to girls. She taught herself Latin before she was ten years old- and would cut off a lock of hair each time she forgot something. By adolescence, she had mastered Greek logic, and at age thirteen she was teaching Latin to young children.
In 1664, at age sixteen, Juana was sent to live in Mexico City, and came under the tutelage of the Vicerreine Leonor Carreto, wife of Antonio Sebastian de Toledo, Marquis de Mancera.
In 1667, she entered the Convent of the Discalced Carmelites of St. Joseph, but only remained there briefly. In 1669, she entered the Convent of the Order of St. Jerome where she would remain until her death.[1]
There is ongoing debate by some moderns, questioning whether she had a personal romantic life, as love is often nuanced in her poems, and her language is often a sensory and sometimes seeming ecstatic one. Coming from poetic traditions in pre-conquest Mexico wherein poetry was high art --and relationship with the gods was often spoken about in terms of erotic lyricism-- and too, with the Spanish overlay of the great Catholic saints who portrayed themselves as "lovers with God" and "brides of Christ," etc., the debate continues about whether her writings are literal or allegorical.
In her time, the convent was the only refuge in which a female could properly attend to education of her mind, spirit, body and soul. In Sor Juana's era, educating girls was not only non-existent, but often considered by Spanish prelates to be the dark work of the Devil.
Nonetheless, Sor Juana wrote literature centered on freedom. In her poem "Redondillas" she defends a woman's right to be respected as a human being. In "Hombres necios" (Stubborn men), she criticizes the sexism of the society of her time, poking fun at and revealing the hypocrisy of men who publicly condemn prostitutes, yet privately pay women to perform on them what they have just said is an abomination to God.
Sor Juana's asks the sharp question in this ages old matter of the purity/whoredom split found in base male mentality: 'Who sins more, she who sins for pay? or he who pays for sin?'
Developing her themes further, she wrote a romantic comedy entitled Los empeños de una casa about a brother and a sister entangled in webs of love, elucidating the themes of love and jealousy. She did not moralize, but rather, in the spirit of her lifetime interests, inquired of how these deeply emotional matters shaped and carved a woman's pursuit of liberty, knowledge, education and freedom to live her life in self-sovereignty.
Her independent thinking alarmed and angered the oligarchy of the Roman Catholic Church, for it sawed away at the fundamental idea that women are to serve and not to think; they are to be unpaid or lowly adjuncts to princes of the Church and Spanish royalty. Her 'thinking out loud' was especially dangerous because the Counter Reformation was raging. Anyone who challenged societal values and ecclesiastical dogma could be marked by the Church as a heretic, and thereby harmed by the Church bearing false witness against the person; by the Church silencing them; forcing them into penitence, or else stripping them of property and assets, including those of one's family; they could be tortured, exiled, imprisoned or murdered.
Matters came to a head in 1690, when a letter was published attacking Sor Juana's focus on the sciences, and suggesting that she should devote her time to soft theology.
However, powerful representatives from the Spanish court were her mentors and she was widely read in Spain, being called "the Tenth Muse." She was lauded as the most prominent poet of the post-conquest American Continent. Her work was printed by the first printing press of the American Continent in Mexico City.
In response to clergy who sought to reprimand her, Sor Juana wrote a letter entitled Respuesta a Sor Filotea (Reply to Sister Filotea,) in which she defended women's right to any education they desired. The Catholic Church, via the Archbishop of Mexico joined other high-ranking officials in condemning Sor Juana's "waywardness."
By 1693, Sor Juana seemingly ceased writing rather than risk further Church censure. However, there is no undisputed evidence of her renouncing devotion to letters, though there are documents showing her agreeing to self-humiliation. Her name is affixed to such a document in 1694, but given her deep natural lyricism, the tone of these supposed hand-written penitentials is rhetorical and autocratic Church formulae- one signed, "Yo, la peor de todas" (I, the worst of all).
She is said to have sold all her books then, an extensive library of over 4,000 volumes... her musical and scientific instruments as well. According to some investigators, her books of her own works were burnt by the Inquisition as she was forced into silence by Church hierarchy.
Only a few writings remain which are known as the "Complete Works." According to Octavio Paz, Sor Juana's writings were saved by the Viceroy's wife. Some sources have speculated they were lovers. In April 1695, after ministering to the other sisters struck down by a rampant plague, she is said to have died at four in the morning on April 17.
...
l know we arent supposed to cut and paste from sites,
but l found this really intersting...
l adore reading about the first women to do things,
especially sticking it up males...lol...
so l hope u find it interesting as l did.
....
Sor Juana was born (November 12, 1658. Some biographers record her birth year as [1648,] – April 17, 1695).
She was known as Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, and also by her full name: Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz de Asbaje (or Asuaje) y Ramírez de Santillana
Sor Juana was a self-taught Novohispana scholar, nun, poet, and a writer of the Baroque school. Though she lived in a post-conquest era when Mexico was colonized by Spain, she is considered a Mexican writer, and a precursor to later Mexican literature.
Life and Literary Production
During a time when bloodlines strictly dictated class and status, Juana de Asbaje y Ramirez Santillana began life as the illegitimate daughter of a nobleman. Her mother came from the small village of San Miguel de Nepantla, near Amecameca (modern-day México State). Her grandfather had acquired property there, and so Juana was raised in village life.
She was a gifted child who hid in the hacienda chapel to read her grandfather's books from the adjoining library, something forbidden to girls. She taught herself Latin before she was ten years old- and would cut off a lock of hair each time she forgot something. By adolescence, she had mastered Greek logic, and at age thirteen she was teaching Latin to young children.
In 1664, at age sixteen, Juana was sent to live in Mexico City, and came under the tutelage of the Vicerreine Leonor Carreto, wife of Antonio Sebastian de Toledo, Marquis de Mancera.
In 1667, she entered the Convent of the Discalced Carmelites of St. Joseph, but only remained there briefly. In 1669, she entered the Convent of the Order of St. Jerome where she would remain until her death.[1]
There is ongoing debate by some moderns, questioning whether she had a personal romantic life, as love is often nuanced in her poems, and her language is often a sensory and sometimes seeming ecstatic one. Coming from poetic traditions in pre-conquest Mexico wherein poetry was high art --and relationship with the gods was often spoken about in terms of erotic lyricism-- and too, with the Spanish overlay of the great Catholic saints who portrayed themselves as "lovers with God" and "brides of Christ," etc., the debate continues about whether her writings are literal or allegorical.
In her time, the convent was the only refuge in which a female could properly attend to education of her mind, spirit, body and soul. In Sor Juana's era, educating girls was not only non-existent, but often considered by Spanish prelates to be the dark work of the Devil.
Nonetheless, Sor Juana wrote literature centered on freedom. In her poem "Redondillas" she defends a woman's right to be respected as a human being. In "Hombres necios" (Stubborn men), she criticizes the sexism of the society of her time, poking fun at and revealing the hypocrisy of men who publicly condemn prostitutes, yet privately pay women to perform on them what they have just said is an abomination to God.
Sor Juana's asks the sharp question in this ages old matter of the purity/whoredom split found in base male mentality: 'Who sins more, she who sins for pay? or he who pays for sin?'
Developing her themes further, she wrote a romantic comedy entitled Los empeños de una casa about a brother and a sister entangled in webs of love, elucidating the themes of love and jealousy. She did not moralize, but rather, in the spirit of her lifetime interests, inquired of how these deeply emotional matters shaped and carved a woman's pursuit of liberty, knowledge, education and freedom to live her life in self-sovereignty.
Her independent thinking alarmed and angered the oligarchy of the Roman Catholic Church, for it sawed away at the fundamental idea that women are to serve and not to think; they are to be unpaid or lowly adjuncts to princes of the Church and Spanish royalty. Her 'thinking out loud' was especially dangerous because the Counter Reformation was raging. Anyone who challenged societal values and ecclesiastical dogma could be marked by the Church as a heretic, and thereby harmed by the Church bearing false witness against the person; by the Church silencing them; forcing them into penitence, or else stripping them of property and assets, including those of one's family; they could be tortured, exiled, imprisoned or murdered.
Matters came to a head in 1690, when a letter was published attacking Sor Juana's focus on the sciences, and suggesting that she should devote her time to soft theology.
However, powerful representatives from the Spanish court were her mentors and she was widely read in Spain, being called "the Tenth Muse." She was lauded as the most prominent poet of the post-conquest American Continent. Her work was printed by the first printing press of the American Continent in Mexico City.
In response to clergy who sought to reprimand her, Sor Juana wrote a letter entitled Respuesta a Sor Filotea (Reply to Sister Filotea,) in which she defended women's right to any education they desired. The Catholic Church, via the Archbishop of Mexico joined other high-ranking officials in condemning Sor Juana's "waywardness."
By 1693, Sor Juana seemingly ceased writing rather than risk further Church censure. However, there is no undisputed evidence of her renouncing devotion to letters, though there are documents showing her agreeing to self-humiliation. Her name is affixed to such a document in 1694, but given her deep natural lyricism, the tone of these supposed hand-written penitentials is rhetorical and autocratic Church formulae- one signed, "Yo, la peor de todas" (I, the worst of all).
She is said to have sold all her books then, an extensive library of over 4,000 volumes... her musical and scientific instruments as well. According to some investigators, her books of her own works were burnt by the Inquisition as she was forced into silence by Church hierarchy.
Only a few writings remain which are known as the "Complete Works." According to Octavio Paz, Sor Juana's writings were saved by the Viceroy's wife. Some sources have speculated they were lovers. In April 1695, after ministering to the other sisters struck down by a rampant plague, she is said to have died at four in the morning on April 17.
...
l know we arent supposed to cut and paste from sites,
but l found this really intersting...
l adore reading about the first women to do things,
especially sticking it up males...lol...
so l hope u find it interesting as l did.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Melbourne Fires...
l have tried to imagine
How those poor people on the mountain feel.
l have never been caught is a fire situation before.
lve only had trouble with water.
but these poor people.
the fright, the fear.
thinking or knowing they were going to die.
the pain of the heat.
the fading in and out of life.
their lungs, the body functions.
the depression, the pain.
my heart cries for them.
others lives are and can be worse than mine.
l shall pray for them to have great strength.
How those poor people on the mountain feel.
l have never been caught is a fire situation before.
lve only had trouble with water.
but these poor people.
the fright, the fear.
thinking or knowing they were going to die.
the pain of the heat.
the fading in and out of life.
their lungs, the body functions.
the depression, the pain.
my heart cries for them.
others lives are and can be worse than mine.
l shall pray for them to have great strength.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Telephone - poem -
Deep, Deep, Sleep.
Ringing bells invade!
Comfort disturbed...
Blackness.
Now pictures!
Where is the noise!
Climbing,climbing,
Over the edge,
Down on the floor.
Cold against my ear.
A loving familiar voice.
Lay back and collapse.
Voice in ear, close the eyes,
Let it talk, try and concentrate.
The voice asks a question!
Eyes! Open! Think! Oh! Mm!
Oh! Youre awake!
Throw the doona off
Thats tied around you,
Now youre up!
Now the voice wants to go.
You look at the pillow,
Then the window,
Now the clock,
Deep breath,
Try to stand.
Walk to the bathroom.
Eyes sticky,
Throat dry,
Back stiff.
Sit and organize the day.
Hot coffee,
Hot shower,
Warm clothes.
Sunny day,
l smile at the mirror,
And thank god
For another day.
Ringing bells invade!
Comfort disturbed...
Blackness.
Now pictures!
Where is the noise!
Climbing,climbing,
Over the edge,
Down on the floor.
Cold against my ear.
A loving familiar voice.
Lay back and collapse.
Voice in ear, close the eyes,
Let it talk, try and concentrate.
The voice asks a question!
Eyes! Open! Think! Oh! Mm!
Oh! Youre awake!
Throw the doona off
Thats tied around you,
Now youre up!
Now the voice wants to go.
You look at the pillow,
Then the window,
Now the clock,
Deep breath,
Try to stand.
Walk to the bathroom.
Eyes sticky,
Throat dry,
Back stiff.
Sit and organize the day.
Hot coffee,
Hot shower,
Warm clothes.
Sunny day,
l smile at the mirror,
And thank god
For another day.
Friday, November 14, 2008
A Poem. ( Death-Loss )
lt is so hard to lose someone.
the ache of wanting them back, and knowing its impossible.
to have found the right person, and situation, to have it taken.
afraid youll never find another like him.
to hold onto what sat right with you.
we can talk to them, in our quiet moments and dreams.
and feel them close, and feel like we are home.
we dont search for this sadness, this emptiness.
this ache.
tis hard to move on from a place we searched so hard to find.
yes, life does go on.
one day, you will be with him once again.
he would not want you to hurry through this lifetime, to do just that.
he wants you to love life, and love him.
he is there with you, and will do with you, whatever u choose to do with life.
the ache of wanting them back, and knowing its impossible.
to have found the right person, and situation, to have it taken.
afraid youll never find another like him.
to hold onto what sat right with you.
we can talk to them, in our quiet moments and dreams.
and feel them close, and feel like we are home.
we dont search for this sadness, this emptiness.
this ache.
tis hard to move on from a place we searched so hard to find.
yes, life does go on.
one day, you will be with him once again.
he would not want you to hurry through this lifetime, to do just that.
he wants you to love life, and love him.
he is there with you, and will do with you, whatever u choose to do with life.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Crumbs in my Bellybutton.
l sit
crumbs in my bellybutton
has life come to this
sitting half naked in front of the screen
drink
l do not
smoke
l do not
messy l have become
shakes shirt to free a mess to the floor
coffee
out of the same mug
not a mug
a shaker
a shaker with a lost lid
not attractive
sits
heater blowing
listens to outside noise
a boy bouncing a ball
cars coming and going
birds flying past
yelling
listens to abc classic radio
wipes crumbs from face
they fall to the floor
the clock says four pm
the sun is behind me
l see the reflexion on the screen
l should be out there
lm not
lm sitting here
listening to opera singers
sound
the heater fan so loud
feet cold
need water over me
need clean clothes
need to start the day
yesterday
wore me out
l must push forward
l hurt
order order
l mentally slap
has it come to this
surrounded by dust
l crave a big garden just for me
a box is where l am
need to mentally expand
l should drive to the beach
there my mind can stretch
only to come back to the dusty box
l rock
in a fetal position
l hold my head
coffees almost done
stale bread
vegemite
heater fan sound too loud
earplugs day
turns up abc
to drown out noise
books stacked
must be read
dust dust dust
cold feet
water
silent scream
inside my box
red and green
green and red
hahahaha
christmas all year round
l lay back
rest my head
close my eyes
stretch my cold legs
darkness
sweet darkness
l dream
for just a minute
relief
a harp plays on abc
dark harp
so sweet
so soothing
l brush crumbs
to the floor
my order is different
where has the old order gone
set in my ways
crumbs are wrong
on the floor
there are no birds
to pick them up
a pressure
living in a box
so much to do
too close
closes eyes
sits in a field
breathes
tension releases
astral
l watch me
sitting
so much space
so quiet
no heater or cars
or children bouncing balls
the harp plays on
coffee has set in
lm awake
lm fed once again
will tomorrow be the same
Friday, October 3, 2008
Astral.
l can rise from small places.
above and hover.
l can expand my mind into larger places.
l can fly over all.
l bless the place of sleep.
l can make contact better
when in bed under warm blankets
in darkness.
blessed is the food l eat.
for it's energy
helps me to be in contact with you.
above and hover.
l can expand my mind into larger places.
l can fly over all.
l bless the place of sleep.
l can make contact better
when in bed under warm blankets
in darkness.
blessed is the food l eat.
for it's energy
helps me to be in contact with you.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Old Age, I decided, is a gift
I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body! I sometime despair over my body, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt. And often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror (who looks like my parent!), but I don't agonize over those things for long.
I would never trade my amazing friends, my wonderful life, my loving family for less gray hair or a flatter belly. As I've aged, I've become more kind to myself, and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend.
I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie, or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need, but looks so avante garde on my patio. I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant.
I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon; before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.
Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and sleep until noon?
I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60&70's, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love ..... I will.
I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set.
They, too, will get old.
I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And I eventually remember the important things.
Sure, over the years my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car? But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion. A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.
I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. So many have never laughed, and so many have died before their hair could turn silver
As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don't question myself anymore. I've even earned the right to be wrong.
So, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day. (If I feel like it)
MAY OUR FRIENDSHIP NEVER COME APART ESPECIALLY WHEN IT'S STRAIGHT FROM THE HEART! MAY YOU ALWAYS HAVE A RAINBOW OF SMILES ON YOUR FACE AND IN YOUR HEART FOREVER AND EVER!
Saturday, August 23, 2008
DARK HEART.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Dark Heart - A Poem about sexual child abuse, written by myself.
Current mood: sad
Category: Writing and Poetry
Dark Heart
Dark Heart,
ln this bright city tonight,
love on the doorstep,
things not so right,
they call it passion
they call it love
the power of this
ls just push and shove.
No more playing
No more fun
All her life is just riding on the gun.
Walking this sidewalk
As lonely as sin
Thinking 'bout the way
life might have been.
Taking the breath from one that trusted
Like farmyard tool lain waste and gone rusted.
No more playing
No more fun,
All her life is just riding on the gun.
She didnt look her profession
kept every stray cat guessin
fooled u in every avenue
she knew one day youd be in the que
No more playing
No more fun
All her life is just riding on the gun.
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Dark Heart - A Poem about sexual child abuse, written by myself.
Current mood: sad
Category: Writing and Poetry
Dark Heart
Dark Heart,
ln this bright city tonight,
love on the doorstep,
things not so right,
they call it passion
they call it love
the power of this
ls just push and shove.
No more playing
No more fun
All her life is just riding on the gun.
Walking this sidewalk
As lonely as sin
Thinking 'bout the way
life might have been.
Taking the breath from one that trusted
Like farmyard tool lain waste and gone rusted.
No more playing
No more fun,
All her life is just riding on the gun.
She didnt look her profession
kept every stray cat guessin
fooled u in every avenue
she knew one day youd be in the que
No more playing
No more fun
All her life is just riding on the gun.
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Friday, July 25, 2008
A STORY ABOUT FRIENDS.
Luther had been home from the war nearly four months, now, and worked at
The Carnation Milk plant in Mt. Vernon where his wife, Jenny, worked.
This morning he was in the little Miller cafe next door to the post
Office waiting for the mail to be 'put up'. Sitting across from him in
The booth was his old friend, Fred Hill. They were discussing the war
Which was still going on in the Pacific Theatre. Recruitment posters
Still lined the walls of the little cafe.
Fred had not been in the service, because when the war started in 1941,
His parents had been in very poor health; his father with a bad heart,
And his mother with cancer. He was needed at home to care for them and
Operate the farm. His parents had since died, and the farm was now
His—his and Maggie's.
When Luther, Fred's best friend since childhood had flown over Miller in
The B-17, and when the bodies of the Hobbs boys and Billie Martin had
Been shipped home, and when Perry came home with hooks where his hands
Should have been, Fred felt guilty. He felt he had not done his part for
The war effort, and in his own eyes, he was diminished.
But today, it was Luther who seemed depressed. Fred asked him what was
Bothering him. 'You seem down in the dumps, today, Luther,' he said. 'I
Can't see what could be botherin' you. You came through the war without
A scratch, you got a beautiful wife and a baby on the way, you got a
Good job, what's the problem?'
'Jenny's mother is in bad shape,' said Luther, 'We're going to have to
Take her in, and with the baby coming we don't have the room.'
'Can't build a room on?' asked Fred.
'No lumber available,' said Luther. 'I've tried here, Mt. Vernon,
Springfield, Joplin, and there won't be any more shipments for the
Duration. Who knows how long that will be?'
'Tried Will's sawmill?'
'Yeah, but he just saws oak, and it's green. The baby'll be here in
August, and we can't wait for the lumber to dry. Besides, you can't
Build a whole room out of oak, anyway.'
'Wouldn't want to,' said Fred, 'Reckon the mail's up?'
'Probably.'
The two young men left the cafe and went into the post office next door.
Buford Patten, the postmaster, had raised the door to the service
Window, signaling that the mail was in the boxes. Luther and Fred
Retrieved their mail and left—Luther to work at Mt. Vernon, and Fred
Back to the farm.
That evening, Fred finished the milking and sat on the front porch with
Maggie. 'Days are getting longer,' he said, 'Man could get half a day's
Work done after five o'clock.'
'Better put your Pa's car up,' said Maggie, 'Radio says rain tonight.'
Fred's father had bought a new 1941 Ford just before his first heart
Attack, and the car was now Fred’s. He had built a new garage for it
Just before Christmas, and tonight he congratulated himself on getting
It built before the lumber ran out. He didn't even know it had, until
Luther told him this morning.
Fred drove the car into the new garage and latched the door. He walked
Back around the house to the front porch. Something was nagging at his
Mind, but he couldn't define it. He shook it off and sat on the porch
With Maggie until darkness fell. They could see heat lightning in the
West, and the wind started to rise. They went in the house to listen to
The news of the war on the radio, and shortly went to bed.
The next morning, Fred again drove his pickup into Miller for the mail.
The air was fresh and clear now, the rain having washed it clean. The
Sun was shining, and he felt good. When he reached the cafe, Luther was
There ahead of him.
'Still haven't found any lumber, I guess?'
'No, I asked everybody at work, and nobody knows of any. I don't know
What we'll do.'
Now the nagging in Fred's mind defined itself. 'I found the lumber for
You,' he said.
'You did? Where?' Luther was delighted.
'Fella I know. He'll let you have it free, you bein' a veteran and all.
He doesn't seem to want you to know who he is, so I'll have to haul it
In for you. It's good lumber, fir and pine, cut different lengths and
Got nails in it, but that's no problem. Tell you what, you get your
Foundation poured, and I'll bring you a pickup load everyday and help
You build it. We'll have it done before the baby gets here.'
'That's a friend for you,' Luther said to himself, as he drove to Mt.
Vernon. That evening he came home with sacks of cement in his pickup.
Luther dug and poured the foundation, and when it was ready for the
footings, he told Fred.
'Fine,' said Fred, 'I'll bring the first load over and be there when you
get home from work.'
Fred appeared every evening with a load of lumber, and the two men
worked until it was too dark to see. Sometimes Maggie came too, and the
women sat in the house listening to the radio or talking about babies or
Jenny's ailing mother, their sentences punctuated by the sound of the
hammers outside.
Over the next few weeks the new room took shape and was finished and
roofed. 'Where did you get the shingles?' asked Luther.
'Same fella,' answered Fred. 'He's got all kinds of stuff.'
Luther didn't push. Lots of older folks liked to help out the young
veterans anonymously. It was common.
It was done! The women fixed the room up inside, and moved Jenny's
mother in. The men went back about their business.
At supper one evening, Luther told Jenny he would like to do something
nice for Fred and Maggie, since they had been so helpful with the new
room. 'I know,' said Jenny, brightly, 'Maggie likes those big wooden
lawn chairs like Aunt Birdie has in her lawn. Why not get them a couple
of those?'
'Good idea,' agreed Luther, and the next Saturday he bought a couple at
Callison's hardware and loaded them into his pickup.
When he got out to Fred's farm, there was no one home, Fred and Maggie
having gone into Springfield, shopping. 'That's ok,' Luther thought,
'I'll just put them in the garage in case it rains.'
He drove around the house and into the driveway that led to Fred's new
garage.
The garage was gone. Only the foundation remained to show where it had been.
Luther put the chairs on the front porch and drove home, tears in his eyes.
The two men are now in their mid-seventies, and are still the best of
friends. They never spoke of the incident. How could they?
There was nothing to say.
The Carnation Milk plant in Mt. Vernon where his wife, Jenny, worked.
This morning he was in the little Miller cafe next door to the post
Office waiting for the mail to be 'put up'. Sitting across from him in
The booth was his old friend, Fred Hill. They were discussing the war
Which was still going on in the Pacific Theatre. Recruitment posters
Still lined the walls of the little cafe.
Fred had not been in the service, because when the war started in 1941,
His parents had been in very poor health; his father with a bad heart,
And his mother with cancer. He was needed at home to care for them and
Operate the farm. His parents had since died, and the farm was now
His—his and Maggie's.
When Luther, Fred's best friend since childhood had flown over Miller in
The B-17, and when the bodies of the Hobbs boys and Billie Martin had
Been shipped home, and when Perry came home with hooks where his hands
Should have been, Fred felt guilty. He felt he had not done his part for
The war effort, and in his own eyes, he was diminished.
But today, it was Luther who seemed depressed. Fred asked him what was
Bothering him. 'You seem down in the dumps, today, Luther,' he said. 'I
Can't see what could be botherin' you. You came through the war without
A scratch, you got a beautiful wife and a baby on the way, you got a
Good job, what's the problem?'
'Jenny's mother is in bad shape,' said Luther, 'We're going to have to
Take her in, and with the baby coming we don't have the room.'
'Can't build a room on?' asked Fred.
'No lumber available,' said Luther. 'I've tried here, Mt. Vernon,
Springfield, Joplin, and there won't be any more shipments for the
Duration. Who knows how long that will be?'
'Tried Will's sawmill?'
'Yeah, but he just saws oak, and it's green. The baby'll be here in
August, and we can't wait for the lumber to dry. Besides, you can't
Build a whole room out of oak, anyway.'
'Wouldn't want to,' said Fred, 'Reckon the mail's up?'
'Probably.'
The two young men left the cafe and went into the post office next door.
Buford Patten, the postmaster, had raised the door to the service
Window, signaling that the mail was in the boxes. Luther and Fred
Retrieved their mail and left—Luther to work at Mt. Vernon, and Fred
Back to the farm.
That evening, Fred finished the milking and sat on the front porch with
Maggie. 'Days are getting longer,' he said, 'Man could get half a day's
Work done after five o'clock.'
'Better put your Pa's car up,' said Maggie, 'Radio says rain tonight.'
Fred's father had bought a new 1941 Ford just before his first heart
Attack, and the car was now Fred’s. He had built a new garage for it
Just before Christmas, and tonight he congratulated himself on getting
It built before the lumber ran out. He didn't even know it had, until
Luther told him this morning.
Fred drove the car into the new garage and latched the door. He walked
Back around the house to the front porch. Something was nagging at his
Mind, but he couldn't define it. He shook it off and sat on the porch
With Maggie until darkness fell. They could see heat lightning in the
West, and the wind started to rise. They went in the house to listen to
The news of the war on the radio, and shortly went to bed.
The next morning, Fred again drove his pickup into Miller for the mail.
The air was fresh and clear now, the rain having washed it clean. The
Sun was shining, and he felt good. When he reached the cafe, Luther was
There ahead of him.
'Still haven't found any lumber, I guess?'
'No, I asked everybody at work, and nobody knows of any. I don't know
What we'll do.'
Now the nagging in Fred's mind defined itself. 'I found the lumber for
You,' he said.
'You did? Where?' Luther was delighted.
'Fella I know. He'll let you have it free, you bein' a veteran and all.
He doesn't seem to want you to know who he is, so I'll have to haul it
In for you. It's good lumber, fir and pine, cut different lengths and
Got nails in it, but that's no problem. Tell you what, you get your
Foundation poured, and I'll bring you a pickup load everyday and help
You build it. We'll have it done before the baby gets here.'
'That's a friend for you,' Luther said to himself, as he drove to Mt.
Vernon. That evening he came home with sacks of cement in his pickup.
Luther dug and poured the foundation, and when it was ready for the
footings, he told Fred.
'Fine,' said Fred, 'I'll bring the first load over and be there when you
get home from work.'
Fred appeared every evening with a load of lumber, and the two men
worked until it was too dark to see. Sometimes Maggie came too, and the
women sat in the house listening to the radio or talking about babies or
Jenny's ailing mother, their sentences punctuated by the sound of the
hammers outside.
Over the next few weeks the new room took shape and was finished and
roofed. 'Where did you get the shingles?' asked Luther.
'Same fella,' answered Fred. 'He's got all kinds of stuff.'
Luther didn't push. Lots of older folks liked to help out the young
veterans anonymously. It was common.
It was done! The women fixed the room up inside, and moved Jenny's
mother in. The men went back about their business.
At supper one evening, Luther told Jenny he would like to do something
nice for Fred and Maggie, since they had been so helpful with the new
room. 'I know,' said Jenny, brightly, 'Maggie likes those big wooden
lawn chairs like Aunt Birdie has in her lawn. Why not get them a couple
of those?'
'Good idea,' agreed Luther, and the next Saturday he bought a couple at
Callison's hardware and loaded them into his pickup.
When he got out to Fred's farm, there was no one home, Fred and Maggie
having gone into Springfield, shopping. 'That's ok,' Luther thought,
'I'll just put them in the garage in case it rains.'
He drove around the house and into the driveway that led to Fred's new
garage.
The garage was gone. Only the foundation remained to show where it had been.
Luther put the chairs on the front porch and drove home, tears in his eyes.
The two men are now in their mid-seventies, and are still the best of
friends. They never spoke of the incident. How could they?
There was nothing to say.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
CHOICES.
John is the kind of guy you love to hate. He is always in a good mood and always has something positive to say. When someone would ask him how he was doing, he would reply, 'If I were any better, I would be twins!'
He was a natural motivator.
If an employee was having a bad day, John was there telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation.
Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up and asked him, 'I don't get it!'
'You can't be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it?'
He replied, 'Each morning I wake up and say to myself, you have two choices today. You can choose to be in a good mood or...you can choose to be in a bad mood.
I choose to be in a good mood.'
Each time something bad happens, I can choose to be a victim or...I can choose to learn from it. I choose to learn from it.
Every time someone comes to me complaining, I can choose to accept their complaining or...I can point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life.
'Yeah, right, it's not that easy,' I protested.
'Yes, it is,' he said. 'Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk, every situation is a choice. You choose how you react to situations. You choose how people affect your mood.
You choose to be in a good mood or bad mood. The bottom line: It's your choice how you live your life.'
I reflected on what he said. Soon hereafter, I left the Tower Industry to start my own business. We lost touch, but I often thought about him when I made a choice about life instead of reacting to it.
Several years later, I heard that he was involved in a serious accident, falling some 60 feet from a communications tower.
After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, he was released from the hospital with rods placed in his back.
I saw him about six months after the accident.
When I asked him how he was, he replied, 'If I were any better, I'd be twins...Wanna see my scars?'
I declined to see his wounds, but I did ask him what had gone through his mind as the accident took place.
'The first thing that went through my mind was the well-being of my soon-to-be born daughter,' he replied. 'Then, as I lay on the ground, I remembered that I had two choices: I could choose to live or...I could choose to die. I chose to live.'
'Weren't you scared? Did you lose consciousness?' I asked.
He continued, '...the paramedics were great.
They kept telling me I was going to be fine. But when they wheeled me into the ER and I saw the expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes, I read 'he's a dead man'. I knew I needed to take action.'
'What did you do?' I asked.
'Well, there was a big burly nurse shouting questions at me,' said John. 'She asked if I was allergic to anything 'Yes, I replied.' The doctors and nurses stopped working as they waited for my reply. I took a deep breath and yelled, 'Gravity''
Over their laughter, I told them, 'I am choosing to live. Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead.'
He lived, thanks to the skill of his doctors, but also because of his amazing attitude...I learned from him that every day we have the choice to live fully.
Attitude, after all, is everything.
Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.'
After all today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday.
You have two choices now:
01. Delete this
02. Forward it to the people you care about.
You know the choice I made.
He was a natural motivator.
If an employee was having a bad day, John was there telling the employee how to look on the positive side of the situation.
Seeing this style really made me curious, so one day I went up and asked him, 'I don't get it!'
'You can't be a positive person all of the time. How do you do it?'
He replied, 'Each morning I wake up and say to myself, you have two choices today. You can choose to be in a good mood or...you can choose to be in a bad mood.
I choose to be in a good mood.'
Each time something bad happens, I can choose to be a victim or...I can choose to learn from it. I choose to learn from it.
Every time someone comes to me complaining, I can choose to accept their complaining or...I can point out the positive side of life. I choose the positive side of life.
'Yeah, right, it's not that easy,' I protested.
'Yes, it is,' he said. 'Life is all about choices. When you cut away all the junk, every situation is a choice. You choose how you react to situations. You choose how people affect your mood.
You choose to be in a good mood or bad mood. The bottom line: It's your choice how you live your life.'
I reflected on what he said. Soon hereafter, I left the Tower Industry to start my own business. We lost touch, but I often thought about him when I made a choice about life instead of reacting to it.
Several years later, I heard that he was involved in a serious accident, falling some 60 feet from a communications tower.
After 18 hours of surgery and weeks of intensive care, he was released from the hospital with rods placed in his back.
I saw him about six months after the accident.
When I asked him how he was, he replied, 'If I were any better, I'd be twins...Wanna see my scars?'
I declined to see his wounds, but I did ask him what had gone through his mind as the accident took place.
'The first thing that went through my mind was the well-being of my soon-to-be born daughter,' he replied. 'Then, as I lay on the ground, I remembered that I had two choices: I could choose to live or...I could choose to die. I chose to live.'
'Weren't you scared? Did you lose consciousness?' I asked.
He continued, '...the paramedics were great.
They kept telling me I was going to be fine. But when they wheeled me into the ER and I saw the expressions on the faces of the doctors and nurses, I got really scared. In their eyes, I read 'he's a dead man'. I knew I needed to take action.'
'What did you do?' I asked.
'Well, there was a big burly nurse shouting questions at me,' said John. 'She asked if I was allergic to anything 'Yes, I replied.' The doctors and nurses stopped working as they waited for my reply. I took a deep breath and yelled, 'Gravity''
Over their laughter, I told them, 'I am choosing to live. Operate on me as if I am alive, not dead.'
He lived, thanks to the skill of his doctors, but also because of his amazing attitude...I learned from him that every day we have the choice to live fully.
Attitude, after all, is everything.
Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.'
After all today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday.
You have two choices now:
01. Delete this
02. Forward it to the people you care about.
You know the choice I made.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Writers Block Challenge#42. - Leap -
l have tried to be everything you wanted me to be.
l still hold your lessons within me.
For 37 yrs, l did all l was told to do.
ln work l gave as much as l could.
l was so happy when l pleased you both.
l felt secure yet fidgetty.
l worked,we saved, l put a deposit on a two bedroom flat.
l stayed in a mentally demanding job making payments on time.
l kept trying, but was falling behind.
l was too embarrassed to tell you.
l was failing, and there was no way out.
l needed something, l needed to be happy inbetween work.
Yes the 'greenman cafe' in malvern.
l shall go there after l finish my evening shift as a taxi despatcher.
lt was so pleasant.
Music, all kinds, after tenseness at work.
l got to know new ppl.
Sometimes after the cafe l would go out with them while they chilled out after working there, and just needed somewhere else to go instead of home,...just like me.
l was trying very hard to hold onto the parents disciplines, yet enjoying this new kind of lifestyle.
We started going to other places.
One of my favourite cabdrivers introduced me to Dutch Tilders, whom l had been wanting to meet since l was 27...
fate...
he introduced me, and l became a regular at every gig he did.
l was still only just holding my job at the taxi company..l really didnt want to be there, but house payments had to be made.
l started to get behind in payments.
l kept trying.
l did my job, and l did the music.
l fell into the musicians way of life.
Finally l just had to sell the flat,
and move on.
l lost my job too.
l was in two mind places...
do l keep trying and get another job, or do l take some time off and relax, and later get a job.
l was torn between, what l loved to do, which was the music, or go and try harder with the parents disciplines.
l stood very still.
l thought.
l looked backwards.
l looked forward.
l leaped out of discipline,and into the world of music.
l left everyone behind in my past,
and ran forward into my new life.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
All U Need is Love...
- All U Need is Love...
- For decades,
l thought love was on the outside.
l would give love ...
Then one day,
l wondered why it wasnt working...
Ding!
l had it the wrong way around.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
BIRD FEEDER.
I bought a bird feeder. I hung it on my back porch and filled it with seed. Within a week we had hundreds of birds taking advantage of the continuous flow of free and easily accessible food. But then the birds started building nests in the boards of the patio, above the table, and next to the barbecue. Then came the poop. It was everywhere: on the patio tile, the chairs, the table...everywhere. Then some of the birds turned mean: They would dive bomb me and try to peck me even though I had fed them out of my own pocket. Others birds were boisterous and loud. They sat on the feeder and squawked and screamed at all hours of the day and night and demanded that I fill it when it got low on food. After a while, I couldn't even sit on my own back porch anymore. I took down the bird feeder and in three days the birds were gone. I cleaned up their mess and took down the many nests they had built all over the patio. Soon, the back yard was like it used to be...quiet, serene and no one demanding their rights to a free meal. Now lets see...our government gives out free food, subsidized housing, free medical care, free education and allows anyone born here to be an automatic citizen. Then the illegals came by the tens of thousands. Suddenly our taxes went up to pay for free services; small apartments are housing 5 families: you have to wait 6 hours to be seen by an emergency room doctor: your child's 2nd grade class is behind other schools because over half the class doesn't speak English: Corn Flakes now come in a bilingual box; I have to press "one" to hear my bank talk to me in English, and people waving flags other than "Old Glory" are squawking and screaming in the streets, demanding more rights and free liberties. Maybe it's time for the government to take down the bird feeder.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Mother.
MOTHER
This is a truly BEAUTIFUL piece. Please
Read this at a slow pace, digesting every word and in
Leisure...do not hurry... This is a treasure...
For those lucky to still be blessed with your Mom,
This is beautiful. For those of us who aren't, this is
Even more beautiful. For those who are moms, you'll love this.
The young mother set her foot on the path of life. 'Is
This the long way?' she asked. And the guide said: 'Yes, and the way is hard.
And you will be old before you reach the end of it... But
The end will be better than the beginning.'
But the young mother was happy, and she would not
Believe that anything could be better than these years. So she
Played with her children, and gathered flowers for
Them along the way, and bathed them in the clear streams; and
The sun shone on them, and the young Mother cried,
'Nothing will ever be lovelier than this.'
Then the night came, and the storm, and the path was
Dark, and the children shook with fear and cold, and the mother
Drew them close and covered them with her mantle, and the children said,
'Mother, we are not afraid, for you are near, and no harm can come.'
And the morning came, and there was a hill ahead, and
The children climbed and grew weary, and the mother was weary.
But at all times she said to the children,' A little patience and we are there.'
So the children climbed, and when they reached the top
They said, 'Mother, we would not have done it without you.'
And the mother, when she lay down at night looked up
At the stars and said, 'This is a better day than the last, for my
Children have learned fortitude in the face of hardness. Yesterday I gave them courage.
Today, I 've given them strength.'
And the next day came strange clouds which darkened
The earth, clouds of war and hate and evil, and the children groped
And stumbled, and the mother said: 'Look up. Lift your eyes to the light.
' And the children looked and saw above the clouds
An everlasting glory, and it guided them beyond the
Darkness. And that night the Mother said,
'This is the best day of all, for
I have shown my children God.'
And the days went on, and the weeks and the months and
The years, and the mother grew old and she was little and bent.
But her children were tall and strong, and walked with
Courage. And when the way was rough, they lifted her,
For she was as light as a feather; and at last they came to a hill,
And beyond they could see a shining road and golden gates flung wide. And
Mother said, 'I have reached the end of my journey. And now I know the end
Is better than the beginning, for my children can
Walk alone, and their children after them.'
And the children said, 'You will always walk with us,
Mother, even when you have gone through the gates.'
And they stood and watched her as she went on alone, and the gates
Closed after her. And they said: 'We cannot see her
But she is with us still. A Mother like ours is more than a memory. She
Is a living presence.... ...'
Your Mother is always with you... She's the whisper
Of the leaves as you walk down the street; she's the smell of bleach
In your freshly laundered socks; she's the cool hand
On your brow when you're not well. Your Mother lives
Inside your laughter. And she's crystallized in every tear drop.
She's the place you came from, your first home; and
she's the map you follow with every step you take. She's your first love
And your first heartbreak, and nothing on earth can
Separate you.
Not time, not space... Not even death!
PASS THIS ON TO ALL THE MOTHERS &CHILDREN YOU KNOW.
MAY WE NEVER TAKE OUR MOTHERS FOR GRANTED...
This is a truly BEAUTIFUL piece. Please
Read this at a slow pace, digesting every word and in
Leisure...do not hurry... This is a treasure...
For those lucky to still be blessed with your Mom,
This is beautiful. For those of us who aren't, this is
Even more beautiful. For those who are moms, you'll love this.
The young mother set her foot on the path of life. 'Is
This the long way?' she asked. And the guide said: 'Yes, and the way is hard.
And you will be old before you reach the end of it... But
The end will be better than the beginning.'
But the young mother was happy, and she would not
Believe that anything could be better than these years. So she
Played with her children, and gathered flowers for
Them along the way, and bathed them in the clear streams; and
The sun shone on them, and the young Mother cried,
'Nothing will ever be lovelier than this.'
Then the night came, and the storm, and the path was
Dark, and the children shook with fear and cold, and the mother
Drew them close and covered them with her mantle, and the children said,
'Mother, we are not afraid, for you are near, and no harm can come.'
And the morning came, and there was a hill ahead, and
The children climbed and grew weary, and the mother was weary.
But at all times she said to the children,' A little patience and we are there.'
So the children climbed, and when they reached the top
They said, 'Mother, we would not have done it without you.'
And the mother, when she lay down at night looked up
At the stars and said, 'This is a better day than the last, for my
Children have learned fortitude in the face of hardness. Yesterday I gave them courage.
Today, I 've given them strength.'
And the next day came strange clouds which darkened
The earth, clouds of war and hate and evil, and the children groped
And stumbled, and the mother said: 'Look up. Lift your eyes to the light.
' And the children looked and saw above the clouds
An everlasting glory, and it guided them beyond the
Darkness. And that night the Mother said,
'This is the best day of all, for
I have shown my children God.'
And the days went on, and the weeks and the months and
The years, and the mother grew old and she was little and bent.
But her children were tall and strong, and walked with
Courage. And when the way was rough, they lifted her,
For she was as light as a feather; and at last they came to a hill,
And beyond they could see a shining road and golden gates flung wide. And
Mother said, 'I have reached the end of my journey. And now I know the end
Is better than the beginning, for my children can
Walk alone, and their children after them.'
And the children said, 'You will always walk with us,
Mother, even when you have gone through the gates.'
And they stood and watched her as she went on alone, and the gates
Closed after her. And they said: 'We cannot see her
But she is with us still. A Mother like ours is more than a memory. She
Is a living presence.... ...'
Your Mother is always with you... She's the whisper
Of the leaves as you walk down the street; she's the smell of bleach
In your freshly laundered socks; she's the cool hand
On your brow when you're not well. Your Mother lives
Inside your laughter. And she's crystallized in every tear drop.
She's the place you came from, your first home; and
she's the map you follow with every step you take. She's your first love
And your first heartbreak, and nothing on earth can
Separate you.
Not time, not space... Not even death!
PASS THIS ON TO ALL THE MOTHERS &CHILDREN YOU KNOW.
MAY WE NEVER TAKE OUR MOTHERS FOR GRANTED...
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Khalil Gibran.
HE WAS BOTH A GREAT WRITER AND HIS ART WELL SEE FOR YOURSELF
Kahlil Gibran (1883-1931) - Gibran / Jibran - Khalil or Kahlil, Arabic name Jubrãn Khalil Jubrãn
but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone
though they quiver with the same music.
(from The Prophet: Marriage)
HE STUDIED ART IN PARIS UNDER RODIN AND WE CAN SEE THE INFLUENCE
Kahlil Gibran (1883-1931) - Gibran / Jibran - Khalil or Kahlil, Arabic name Jubrãn Khalil Jubrãn
Lebanese-American philosophical essayist, novelist, mystical poet, and artist. In the 1960s Gibran's works influenced especially American popular culture; his most famous book, THE PROPHET (1923), has been a bestseller from the 1920s. Gibran believed that if a sensible way of living and thinking could be found, people would have mastery over their lives.
"The human heart cries out for help; the human soul implores us for deliverance; but we do not heed their cries, for we neither hear nor understand. But the man who hears and understands we call mad, and flee from him."
Khalil Gibran was born in Bechari (Bsharri), Lebanon, a mountain village of Maronite Christians. A talented child, he was modelling, drawing, and writing at an early age. Gibran's mother, Kamila, took her children to the United States; their father, Khalil, who owned a walnut grove, remained in Lebanon. The family settled first in Boston, where she earned living by selling laces and linen. Within a year she managed to save enough money to help her son Peter to open a small dry goods store.
Gibran returned to Lebanon in 1897 for two years to study Arabic literature in Beirut at al-Hikma College. Gibran's artistic talents was recognized and he was introduced to F. Holland Day, a photographer, who tutored him in art and literature. Through Day Gibran was given entrée to Boston society, where he acquired valuable contacts. Gibran's mother died of cancer when he was 20. His sister Marianna supported him while he established himself as a writer and painter. Gibran's most ardent benefactress was Mary Haskell, the headmistress of a progressive girl's school in Cambridge. She supported her protégé financially for most of his career and edited his English-language books.
In 1904 Gibran had his first art exhibition in Boston. His first book, AL-MUSIQA (1905) was about music. It was followed by two collections of short stories and a novelette in 1912. From 1908 to 1910 he studied art in Paris with August Rodin. In 1912 he settled in New York, where he devoted himself to writing and painting. Though concerned with the transcendental in his books, the basic subject in Gibran's art was naked human bodies, tenderly intertwined .
Gibran's first works were written in Arabic and are considered central to the development of modern Arabic literature. Gibran also wrote for journals published by the Lebanese and Arab communities in the U.S. From 1918 he wrote mostly in English and managed to revolutionize the language of poetry in the 1920s and 1930s. His first book for the publishing company Alfred Knopf was THE MADMAN (1918), a slim volume of aphorisms and parables written in biblical cadence somewhere between poetry and prose.
Usually Gibran used prophetic tone to condemn the evils that torment his homeland or threaten the humankind. His style, a combination of beauty and spirituality, became known as 'Gibranism'. "I am a stranger to myself. I hear my tongue speak, but my ears find that voice strange. I may see my hidden self laughing, crying, defiant frightened, and thus does my being become enamored of my being and thus my soul begs my soul for explanation. But I remain unknown, hidden, shrouded in fog, veiled in silence." (from 'The Poet') In 1920 he founded a society for Arab writers called "Aribitah" (the pen bond), and supported the struggle to revolutionize the classically conservative Arabic literature. A very important channel for new ideas was Al Magar, the first New York Arabic newspaper, that Gibran wrote for. Other influential writers included Mikha'il Nu'aima (1889-1988), Iliya Abu Madi (1889-1957), Nasib Arida (1887-1946), Nadra Haddad (1881-1950), and Ilyas Abu Sabaka (1903-47). Especially Mikha'il Nu'aima's critical writings paved way to new freedom in poetic expression.
Although Gibran was not a great poet in verse, and most of his writings in prose should not be regarded as "poetry", he opened doors to a new kind of creativity. He also illustrated a number of his books with his own drawings. Salma Khadra Jayyusi wrote in 1987 that Gibran's rhythm "fell on ears like magic, intoxicating in its frequent use of interrogations, repetitions, and the vocative; by a language which was at once modern, elegant, and original; and by an imagery that was evocative and imbued with a healthy measure of emotion. His vision of a world made sterile by dead mores and conventions but redeemable through love, good will, and constructive action deepened his readers' insights en enlightened their views of life and man."
Gibran died of liver disease, possibly accelerated by alcoholism, in New York on April 10, 1931. Upon his death, his body was shipped back to his hometown in Lebanon, where alongside his tomb The Gibran Museum was later established. In his will Gibran left all the royalties of his books to his native village.
"When the souls rise in the
light of their joy, my soul ascends glorified by the
dark of grief.
I am like you, Night! And when my morn comes, then
my time will end."
Gibran's best-known work is THE PROPHET, a partly autobiographical book of 26 poetic essays, which has been translated into over 20 languages. The Prophet, who has lived in a foreign city 12 years, is about to board a ship that will take him home. He is stopped by a group of people, whom he teaches the mysteries of life. The resulting 26 sermons are meant to emancipate the listeners. In the 1960s The Prophet became a counterculture guide and in the 1980s the message of spiritualism overcoming material success was adopted by Yuppies. Critics have not treated the book well. Its mystical poetry is frequently read at weddings even today. Gibran's other popular books include THE EARTH GODS (1931), a dialogue in free verse between three titans on the human destiny.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.Sing and dance together and be joyous,
but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone
though they quiver with the same music.
(from The Prophet: Marriage)
HE STUDIED ART IN PARIS UNDER RODIN AND WE CAN SEE THE INFLUENCE
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Glorious Morning Light...
- The glorious morning light,
behind curtains red and green, some light can be seen.
From sleep and darkness,
l open them, to a wonderful morning.
The air is nice, and not too hot,
l look at the sky, blue with cloud dots.
All is serene,
Good weather to clean.
So happy within myself,
started dusting all my shelves.
Breakfast, toast and homemade plum jam,
and oolong tea, for the energy.
~
lsnt it always the way,
you get motivated,
and something stands in your way,
and you have to wait.
patience, patience.
l used this small energy l acquired for constructiveness,
and cleaned my front entrance to my home.
the weather had heated up,
sweat pouring from my brow.
inside my home,
order is starting,
and all are in line
ready to be done.
l have boiled water,
after reading about the drugs in all our water taps,
its ready for dehy...
~
far too hot to stand at the washing line,
leave it for later or some other time.
made sure my tummy was full
so l had the energy to do all inside.
made some sage bread,
made my sketi,
fan on full.
~
the day is passing
hope later l can finish what l started.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Night Walking - a poem -...
Quietly she walks
Silence all around
Street lights glare
Blue, and Orange tinge
All so still.
Tis the evening walk
After a sensible feast
Walking shoes on
Head held high
Breathing corrected.
A slight hum
From traffic afar
A russel in a tree
A movement in a bush
Life going on as it should.
l walk for a mile
l turn back homeward
No sore parts
No aches and pains
A sensible walk is my gain.
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