December 31, 2012
December 29, 2012
oh...my
CANCER (June 21-July 22): In 2013, I predict you will see why it's wise to
phase out an influence you have loved to hate for far too long.
Uncoincidentally, you will also have a talent for purging emotional burdens
and psychic debris that you've been holding on to since the bad old days.
No later than your birthday, if all goes well, you will be free from a subtle
curse you've been casting on yourself; you will finally be attending to one
of your long-neglected needs; and you will have turned some rather
gawky, half-assed wizardry into a smooth and silky magic.
December 26, 2012
The Universe
no matter where in the world you are, I want you to know, even as you read these words, I'm with you. Behind the eyes of every child, and in the melody of every song. I'm the glimmer in the ice crystals, the rays in the sun, and the stars at night. And with each smile you see, every hug you receive and every laugh you hear, I'll be there, reaching out through another, with blessing and good wishes...... And all of this because I love you, because I've always loved you, and because I always will.
December 24, 2012
on the eve
Fan the sinking flame of hilarity with the wing of friendship; and pass the rosy wine.
Charles Dickens
Charles Dickens
December 23, 2012
Beggar
artbit,deviantart.com
The Shivering Beggar
by Robert Graves
Near Clapham village, where fields began,
Saint Edward met a beggar man.
It was Christmas morning, the church bells tolled,
The old man trembled for the fierce cold.
Saint Edward cried, "It is monstrous sin
A beggar to lie in rags so thin!
An old gray-beard and the frost so keen:
I shall give him my fur-lined gaberdine."
He stripped off his gaberdine of scarlet
And wrapped it round the aged varlet,
Who clutched at the folds with a muttered curse,
Quaking and chattering seven times worse.
Said Edward, "Sir, it would seem you freeze
Most bitter at your extremities.
Here are gloves and shoes and stockings also,
That warm upon your way you may go."
The man took stocking and shoe and glove,
Blaspheming Christ our Saviour’s love,
Yet seemed to find but little relief,
Shaking and shivering like a leaf.
Said the saint again, "I have no great riches,
Yet take this tunic, take these breeches,
My shirt and my vest, take everything,
And give due thanks to Jesus the King."
The saint stood naked upon the snow
Long miles from where he was lodged at Bowe,
Praying, "O God! my faith, it grows faint!
This would try the temper of any saint.
"Make clean my heart, Almighty, I pray,
And drive these sinful thoughts away.
Make clean my heart if it be Thy will,
This damned old rascal’s shivering still!"
He stooped, he touched the beggar man’s shoulder;
He asked him did the frost nip colder?
"Frost!" said the beggar, "no, stupid lad!
’Tis the palsy makes me shiver so bad."
December 21, 2012
If it were to be the end
Thank You
is all I need to say.
and ditto, if it were not...
every day, thank you
is all I need to say.
and ditto, if it were not...
every day, thank you
December 17, 2012
or laying, in this case
We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.
December 15, 2012
December 13, 2012
Christmas by John
Betjeman
The bells of waiting
Advent ring,
The Tortoise stove is
lit again
And lamp-oil light
across the night
Has caught the streaks
of winter rain
In many a stained-glass
window sheen
From Crimson Lake to
Hookers Green.
The holly in the windy
hedge
And round the Manor
House the yew
Will soon be stripped
to deck the ledge,
The altar, font and
arch and pew,
So that the villagers
can say
'The church looks nice'
on Christmas Day.
Provincial Public
Houses blaze,
Corporation tramcars
clang,
On lighted tenements I
gaze,
Where paper decorations
hang,
And bunting in the red
Town Hall
Says 'Merry Christmas
to you all'.
And London shops on
Christmas Eve
Are strung with silver
bells and flowers
As hurrying clerks the
City leave
To pigeon-haunted
classic towers,
And marbled clouds go
scudding by
The many-steepled
London sky.
And girls in slacks
remember Dad,
And oafish louts
remember Mum,
And sleepless
children's hearts are glad.
And Christmas-morning
bells say 'Come!'
Even to shining ones
who dwell
Safe in the Dorchester
Hotel.
And is it true,
This most tremendous
tale of all,
Seen in a stained-glass
window's hue,
A Baby in an ox's stall
?
The Maker of the stars
and sea
Become a Child on earth
for me ?
And is it true ? For if
it is,
No loving fingers tying
strings
Around those tissued
fripperies,
The sweet and silly
Christmas things,
Bath salts and
inexpensive scent
And hideous tie so
kindly meant,
No love that in a
family dwells,
No carolling in frosty
air,
Nor all the
steeple-shaking bells
Can with this single
Truth compare -
That God was man in
Palestine
And lives today in
Bread and Wine.
December 12, 2012
balance
Balance
by Adam Zagajewski
translated by Clare Cavanagh
I watched the arctic landscape from above
and thought of nothing, lovely nothing.
I observed white canopies of clouds, vast
expanses where no wolf tracks could be found.
I thought about you and about the emptiness
that can promise one thing only: plenitude—
and that a certain sort of snowy wasteland
bursts from a surfeit of happiness.
As we drew closer to our landing,
the vulnerable earth emerged among the clouds,
comic gardens forgotten by their owners,
pale grass plagued by winter and the wind.
I put my book down and for an instant felt
a perfect balance between waking and dreams.
December 9, 2012
A Winter Message
A flake of snow in flurry thro’ the air
Had landed as a kiss upon my cheek:
A secret message, just for me to share;
To take to heart but never dare to speak
About or presuppose to other eyes
Your open feelings – distant though they are.
And so, upon your lips, my OWN surprise:
A flake of snow returned from me afar.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
December 4, 2012
November 30, 2012
David Lee Morgan
Imagine you were this cool old guy who loved children
Truly and deeply.
Loved every beat of the way they stiff little tick tock walk and the monkey
Talk and the roar of the buzz of the whisper of the butterfly why of honey and
Wonder and thirsty hunger they give you their hand with everything in it, and
Your heart lurches into give me a place to stand and I will move the universe,
Squeeze it down into the perfect toy,
To light the smile inside your I would give
You anything imagine this multiplied by every newborn smile in a heartbreak
World if you could be santa for every boy and girl imagine a magic workshop
Powered by twinkle of the eye drive quantum indecision and reindeer jive
Every elf in all eleven dimensions drugged and demented but working with
Manic precision a just-in-the-nick-of-time engine
(That’s why they call you saint nick),
And in the back of the sleigh a bag big enough to carry its weight
In wishes this is it, the delicious impossible minute when every child on the
Olanet is given the one perfect gift that says this is your world
– and you belong in it.
Imagine you could do this one wonderful thing.
But for the rest of the year that was all you could do
And the toys would go out and be used up and worn out and broken
And that was good, the way it should be, that was why you would build them
Toys were made to be broken, not children
And in the war torn days of the in-between year the names would change but
it was always king herod’s reign and his soldiers would go from door to door
with bloody swords while you all worked on through tears and horror knowing
you could never make it right no matter how magical that one perfect night.
What would you do?
Would you go on working?
When you could only give the one perfect minute
Better than nothing and who can argue with arithmetic
Or would you go crazy with the weight of anger and grief
Would you feel responsible, would you feel like a thief
Living a life so sweet, full of hard work done well
...These are the
Crazy santas who never give up,
Crazy santas mad with love,
Crazy santas
Get up at the crack of dawn work boots on march out onto the field into the
street get beat fight back get shot at don’t stop live life hot-wired crazy santas
are dangerous but it’s a dangerous world some people can’t help fighting back
whenever they see the weak attacked they live like champions in the army of
the never-had-a-chance.
Some of them pick up the gun.
Some of them live like saints.
All of them are powered by love.
All of them make mistakes.
Some say we need more magic minutes that’s the best we can do
But I believe we need to reach out for eternity we need to be
Crazy santas who never give up
Crazy santas mad with love
November 27, 2012
November 26, 2012
everything together
And so the universe conspires to make me laugh through the tears. Or cry with happy, worried, hope. Or laugh with remembrance and terrified excitement. I haven't actually figured it out yet, but I'll just be here for now.
November 20, 2012
November 18, 2012
not so very long ago
surrounded by your music
and your tears
your pain
and your tender worry
ever the love shines through the darkness
what gratitude is mine, to be invited
and your tears
your pain
and your tender worry
ever the love shines through the darkness
what gratitude is mine, to be invited
November 17, 2012
a week of remembrance and celebration
Though she be but little, she is FIERCE!! Will S.
I love you, sweet warrior
I love you, sweet warrior
November 15, 2012
Rilke
Thus, if you came, I could be satisfied
to let my hand rest lightly, for a
moment,
lightly, upon your shoulder
Along the Sun Drenched Road
November 7, 2012
October 31, 2012
...BOO!...
Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those
who dream only at night.
Edgar Allan Poe
October 30, 2012
October 29, 2012
but not impossible
I am not, of course, telling you for one second that your teacher
actually is a witch. All I am saying is that she might be one. It is most
unlikely. But--here comes the big "but"--not impossible.
— Roald Dahl
October 16, 2012
October 15, 2012
October 9, 2012
YOU
I love you. That's all. Am I talking to someone specifically? Yes. You! If you can see this, I am talking to YOU!!!
October 7, 2012
Heaven when we're home
Don't know what time it is, I've been up for way too long
and I'm too tired to sleep.
I call my mother on the phone, she wasn't home,
and now I'm wandering the street.
I've been a fool, I've been cruel to myself.
I've been hanging onto nothing
when nothing could be worse than hanging on.
And something tells me there must be
something better than all this.
I've fallen many times in love and every time
it's been with the wrong man.
Still I'm out there living one day at a time
and doing the best I can.
Cuz we've all made mistakes
that seem to lead us astray
But every time they helped to get us where we are today,
And that's a good a place as any
and it's probably where we're best off anyway.
It's a long and rugged road
and we don't now where it's headed.
But we know it's going to get us where we're going
And when we find what we're looking for
we'll drop these bags and search no more
'Cuz it's going to feel like heaven when we're home.
It's going to feel like heaven when we're home.
There's no such thing as perfect,
and if there is we'll fnd it when we're good and dead.
Trust me I've been looking,
but tonight I think I'll go and take a bath instead.
And then maybe I'll walk a while
and feel the earth beneath me.
They say if you start looking
it doesn't matter if you find it.
And whose to say that even if I did
it's what I was really looking for.
It's a long and rugged road,
and we don't now where it's headed
But we know it's going to get us where we're going.
And when we find what we're looking for
we'll drop these bags and search no more
'Cuz it's going to feel like heaven when we're home.
It's going to feel like heaven when we're home.
Wallin Jennys
October 2, 2012
Free Will
"Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life," said Pablo Picasso. That's certainly true for me. I can purify my system either by creating art myself or being in the presence of great art it cleanses me of the congested emotions that just naturally build up in all of us. It purges the repetitive thoughts that torment."
Rob Bresky, oracle
September 28, 2012
the good fight
It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through." — Ira Glass
September 22, 2012
September 21, 2012
September 4, 2012
August 7, 2012
August 5, 2012
July 10, 2012
July 1, 2012
May 27, 2012
Amongst the ups and downs,
the celebrations and revelations,
as I strive to serve those worthy warriors and well doers,
and hold on to the those I fear to lose,
the constant is that you were here, and I love you still
the love, it never ends
and you are with me,
and with us all
2 years gone, and you're living still
May 16, 2012
what it is
It is that I stand here,
seeing this beautiful,
experiencing the eternal glory
hearing the ringing of its everlasting grace
feeling its presence
and I am not sharing it with you,
therein the heartbreak
seeing this beautiful,
experiencing the eternal glory
hearing the ringing of its everlasting grace
feeling its presence
and I am not sharing it with you,
therein the heartbreak
May 14, 2012
April 15, 2012
April 13, 2012
April 8, 2012
April 3, 2012
March 30, 2012
March 14, 2012
March 8, 2012
a new beginning
Take me to the breaking of a beautiful dawn
Take me to the place where we come from
Take me to the end so I can see the start
There's only one way to mend a broken heart
Take me to the place where I don't feel so small
Take me where I don't need to stand so tall
Take me to the edge so I can fall apart
There's only one way to mend a broken heart
Take me where love isn't up for sale
Take me where our hearts are not so frail
Take me where the fire still owns its spark
There's only one way to mend a broken heart
Teach me how to see when I close my eyes
Teach me to forgive and to apologize
Show me how to love in the darkest dark
There's only one way to mend a broken heart
Take me where the angels are close at hand
Take me where the ocean meets the sky and the land
Show me to the wisdom of the evening star
There's only one way to mend a broken heart
Take me to the place where I feel no shame
Take me where the courage doesn't need a name
Learning how to cry is the hardest part
There's only one way to mend a broken heart
the Jennys Wail
February 24, 2012
February 18, 2012
February 14, 2012
February 13, 2012
February 12, 2012
February 11, 2012
February 10, 2012
February 9, 2012
February 8, 2012
February 7, 2012
February 6, 2012
February 5, 2012
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