The 2 thousand and 13th begin (I stole that from Grant)

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.

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.

on the eve

Fan the sinking flame of hilarity with the wing of friendship; and pass the rosy wine.

Charles Dickens

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."

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

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.

Proud glimpse

in a moment of heartbreak, a proud glimpse into my musical childhood

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.

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.

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

79 years young

the twins cometh

My favorite New York revival of the year!