In the deep quiet of the day's end
I walk into the night; uncertain, breathless, fired and impassioned;
I raise a haunted face to an ink-filled sky.
It blinks back at me,
Waiting.
Saturday, May 25, 2019
Friday, May 24, 2019
sign posted on tree with small axe
BIGGALL'S WIGGLES
(fISH LURES AND CURIO ITEMS FOR THE
FISHERMAN AND HIS FAMILY)
tIRD LAKE FROM TA LEFT OF SNONKER'S
BOATHOUSE
SQUEAKED IN, ONTARIO
HEY, YAS! I JUS' HAD TO RITE YAS AND LET YAS NO
DAT DA ONE STEP UP NEAR 'TA FRONT
IS DERN NEAR A KILLER.
ME AND MA WENT TO
BUY ONE OF 'EM LITTLE SPECKLED LOORS
WHAT LOOK LIKE PUMPERNICKEL LOAVES
(HERE DEY'RE A REAL TREAT FOR DA MUSKEY),
AND 'TA 'TING JES SEEMED TO LOOM OUT OF
NOWWAIRS, TO CAUSE ME GREAT PERSONAL PAIN.
MIND YA',
I BOUNCED A BIT, WHAT WIT' DA WEATHER BEIN' COLD, AND
THE WISER'S
BEING WAR, 'N ALL, BUT STILL, YOU SHOULD
REALLY MEBBE PUT A FLASHIN' SIGHN NEAR DA
BIG PINE ON DA LEFT, WHAT TO WARN PEOPLE
WIT, LIKE.
JESS BEIN' A CONCERNET CITIZEN. also, I
LOST MY HAIRPIECE, WHAT MA GOT ME, TREE
CHRISTMASSES BACK, AND IT SORTA' FEELS
LIKE A LONG TRIP ON A COLD NIGHT, IF YAS
KNOW WHAT I MEAN.....GETTIN' PERSONAL, LIKE.
sincerely, THE FIDDLIN'S.....WHAT LIVE OVER NEAR
TA OLD ROCK JUT.
(fISH LURES AND CURIO ITEMS FOR THE
FISHERMAN AND HIS FAMILY)
tIRD LAKE FROM TA LEFT OF SNONKER'S
BOATHOUSE
SQUEAKED IN, ONTARIO
HEY, YAS! I JUS' HAD TO RITE YAS AND LET YAS NO
DAT DA ONE STEP UP NEAR 'TA FRONT
IS DERN NEAR A KILLER.
ME AND MA WENT TO
BUY ONE OF 'EM LITTLE SPECKLED LOORS
WHAT LOOK LIKE PUMPERNICKEL LOAVES
(HERE DEY'RE A REAL TREAT FOR DA MUSKEY),
AND 'TA 'TING JES SEEMED TO LOOM OUT OF
NOWWAIRS, TO CAUSE ME GREAT PERSONAL PAIN.
MIND YA',
I BOUNCED A BIT, WHAT WIT' DA WEATHER BEIN' COLD, AND
THE WISER'S
BEING WAR, 'N ALL, BUT STILL, YOU SHOULD
REALLY MEBBE PUT A FLASHIN' SIGHN NEAR DA
BIG PINE ON DA LEFT, WHAT TO WARN PEOPLE
WIT, LIKE.
JESS BEIN' A CONCERNET CITIZEN. also, I
LOST MY HAIRPIECE, WHAT MA GOT ME, TREE
CHRISTMASSES BACK, AND IT SORTA' FEELS
LIKE A LONG TRIP ON A COLD NIGHT, IF YAS
KNOW WHAT I MEAN.....GETTIN' PERSONAL, LIKE.
sincerely, THE FIDDLIN'S.....WHAT LIVE OVER NEAR
TA OLD ROCK JUT.
Thursday, May 23, 2019
Bag Lunch, Delivered xo
The exquisite gift of someone bringing you lunch.
What does this bring?
…
A picnic into monotony
…...:respite in the midst of the processed and mechanical: evidence of greenery,
wild frond flinging and Amazonia roll for joy, amidst the incessant steel of intellectual erection, realized.
And you thought it was just a BLT.
What does this bring?
…
A picnic into monotony
…...:respite in the midst of the processed and mechanical: evidence of greenery,
wild frond flinging and Amazonia roll for joy, amidst the incessant steel of intellectual erection, realized.
And you thought it was just a BLT.
Wednesday, May 22, 2019
Wednesday, May 15, 2019
Optical callusion
Exquisite air absent matter...
Removed, but replaced within cortex flash:
Orb transmit;
Shudder-shimmer-shake..
Complete.
Enveloped within, without, in
Murmur murmured more against eyes, ears, mouth, neck, hand:
Breath,
Met.
...And still, a twirl-whirl-furl of stars inked white hot
In ebony sky:
Present, absent, present, absent,
Finding
Space
Matter meaning in
Current, realized.
Removed, but replaced within cortex flash:
Orb transmit;
Shudder-shimmer-shake..
Complete.
Enveloped within, without, in
Murmur murmured more against eyes, ears, mouth, neck, hand:
Breath,
Met.
...And still, a twirl-whirl-furl of stars inked white hot
In ebony sky:
Present, absent, present, absent,
Finding
Space
Matter meaning in
Current, realized.
Friday, May 10, 2019
Progress
The mist is risen;
I see its mysterious fingers curling slowly around the greening, waving trancelike
In grasses and fronds profusely undulating.
I feel the greening in me, wishing it
Sanely
In the soil's
Eyes.
I see its mysterious fingers curling slowly around the greening, waving trancelike
In grasses and fronds profusely undulating.
I feel the greening in me, wishing it
Sanely
In the soil's
Eyes.
Thursday, May 9, 2019
Monday, May 6, 2019
Wednesday, May 1, 2019
Current
Ah, Hugoesque.
Ballet point perfect, Sala Sadler, the stars peer knowingly, grey twinkle in shared glow, floating
In a balanced
Never, fossil remnants untouched.
Theirs is a shared conviction,
Gliding.
Ballet point perfect, Sala Sadler, the stars peer knowingly, grey twinkle in shared glow, floating
In a balanced
Never, fossil remnants untouched.
Theirs is a shared conviction,
Gliding.
Sunday, April 28, 2019
Meta Smeltics.
I used to wish myself wispy.
There were days - when I was very young and apologetic about feeling awkward with my womanly body - when substantial, or presence, or "robust" seemed words more appropriate to …..someone else, that didn't want to be Twiggy. I wanted to be Twiggy.
There were days - when I was very young and apologetic about feeling awkward with my womanly body - when substantial, or presence, or "robust" seemed words more appropriate to …..someone else, that didn't want to be Twiggy. I wanted to be Twiggy.
Twiggy has to be explained to some girls...mostly blue collar, strangely. The other collars have to be coached to eat: the oddest dichotomy in a world of plenty, in a veritable insanity of .
Reversed irony.
I grew into my breasts - the symbol and signatory mothering indicator, corporeally, of God;
bestowed upon woman with bodily inhibitor and functions tasked with
Continuance.
Eventually women learn that the size of them is irrelevant. Men learn this, too. This comes with a respect for the sacredness of the human body, as vessel, rather than an idea about its ideal.
Women spiritually and physically despise themselves when there is a meltdown in this area, as a result:
by default, programming - and an excruciating acknowledgement of a part of themselves dying, unknown, (though felt). For some, it is breast. For some, it is embryonic extension. For some, it is the loss of self within layers of soft and comforting flesh, in which self is lost, and there is safety from pain.
The self loss is wordless, faceless, and leaves a chasm - in miniature.
Nothing fills it: food, drink, toning, pummeling (by yourself and others), proper diet, getting over it, under it, on top of it, beside it, around it....you have an area of space that inhabits you, inside, afterwards. Space: as in.....elsewhere. You connect to all the universe, through loss and the reopening of yourself to Nothingness. Even when the loss is automatic, instantaneous, triggered, accidental, occidental, or expected....Space and You are One.
This is how I know that there is much beyond this life, and that there is God.
Beyond this Strange Pain, there is inexplicable Comfort that is internal balm, realized. Even when it is not your fault, you can Forgive
Your own
Imperfection, and "Gestational Retardation" - (as in, "the ability to do so" - a kinder accusation, recalled and uttered by what I now refer to as "The Deceased Causal Factor")
and Live.
There are those who love Space, too.. It is what is unseen that they love, and recognized, instinctively and inexplicably, when there is genuineness beyond the carbon-based urgings.
This, too, is from God: two splices of God, remelding. Many welders like this analogy.
I call it "Metallica Love"...without a hint of rancor or dyslexia.
Here endeth the Smelting Moment. Long live Metallurgy.
Reversed irony.
I grew into my breasts - the symbol and signatory mothering indicator, corporeally, of God;
bestowed upon woman with bodily inhibitor and functions tasked with
Continuance.
Eventually women learn that the size of them is irrelevant. Men learn this, too. This comes with a respect for the sacredness of the human body, as vessel, rather than an idea about its ideal.
Women spiritually and physically despise themselves when there is a meltdown in this area, as a result:
by default, programming - and an excruciating acknowledgement of a part of themselves dying, unknown, (though felt). For some, it is breast. For some, it is embryonic extension. For some, it is the loss of self within layers of soft and comforting flesh, in which self is lost, and there is safety from pain.
The self loss is wordless, faceless, and leaves a chasm - in miniature.
Nothing fills it: food, drink, toning, pummeling (by yourself and others), proper diet, getting over it, under it, on top of it, beside it, around it....you have an area of space that inhabits you, inside, afterwards. Space: as in.....elsewhere. You connect to all the universe, through loss and the reopening of yourself to Nothingness. Even when the loss is automatic, instantaneous, triggered, accidental, occidental, or expected....Space and You are One.
This is how I know that there is much beyond this life, and that there is God.
Beyond this Strange Pain, there is inexplicable Comfort that is internal balm, realized. Even when it is not your fault, you can Forgive
Your own
Imperfection, and "Gestational Retardation" - (as in, "the ability to do so" - a kinder accusation, recalled and uttered by what I now refer to as "The Deceased Causal Factor")
and Live.
There are those who love Space, too.. It is what is unseen that they love, and recognized, instinctively and inexplicably, when there is genuineness beyond the carbon-based urgings.
This, too, is from God: two splices of God, remelding. Many welders like this analogy.
I call it "Metallica Love"...without a hint of rancor or dyslexia.
Here endeth the Smelting Moment. Long live Metallurgy.
Friday, April 19, 2019
The Story of GOOD FRIDAY
New Testament:
1. PETER - Chapter 2, Verses 22 and 23
2. MATTHEW Chapter 26, Verses 1 - 75 and
Chapter 27, Verses 1 - 66
- These explain the events of Good Friday, and Christ's Passion. You may never have really read the story before, though you thought you knew it. It will shock you.
…..This Good Friday, reread "the story like no other", as we approach the Passover, and Easter, with new eyes made thoughtful, by the acts of a Man - a Being - like No Other.
1. PETER - Chapter 2, Verses 22 and 23
2. MATTHEW Chapter 26, Verses 1 - 75 and
Chapter 27, Verses 1 - 66
- These explain the events of Good Friday, and Christ's Passion. You may never have really read the story before, though you thought you knew it. It will shock you.
…..This Good Friday, reread "the story like no other", as we approach the Passover, and Easter, with new eyes made thoughtful, by the acts of a Man - a Being - like No Other.
Friday, April 12, 2019
flying thought for the day
"For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control." 2 Tim.1.7
Boo ya.
Boo ya.
Wednesday, April 10, 2019
Promise
Oh, wondrous spring!
The sleepy headed jut of tulip shoot edging forth,
Sworded leaf bursting bonds of winter sleep,
Cradling the gentle egg of petals
Yet unfurled, and eager
For Light and
Life.
The sleepy headed jut of tulip shoot edging forth,
Sworded leaf bursting bonds of winter sleep,
Cradling the gentle egg of petals
Yet unfurled, and eager
For Light and
Life.
Saturday, April 6, 2019
Sunday, March 24, 2019
Disaster Relief
After a huge storm wrecked the inside of their small home, a pastor and his wife endured
two weeks of living on their porch in a dining tent, while refurbishment work and restoration made their home liveable once again.
However, after one steady downpour, inside walls revealed that the renovators had done a poor job, cutting corners on supplies, patching things haphazardly, and slapping one coat of paint down in some places, in their eagerness to get on to the next, higher-paying job.
The pastor, not one to mince words, or settle for poor workmanship, when it was obvious that the work had been shoddy, stared hard at the man he had called back to review specific areas in need of immediate improvement.
The workman hung his head, sheepishly acknowledging that they had rushed the work, and used a portion of the materials indicated on the manifest.
Not missing a beat, the pastor heaved a huge sigh, and intoned,
"Repaint, and thin no more."
two weeks of living on their porch in a dining tent, while refurbishment work and restoration made their home liveable once again.
However, after one steady downpour, inside walls revealed that the renovators had done a poor job, cutting corners on supplies, patching things haphazardly, and slapping one coat of paint down in some places, in their eagerness to get on to the next, higher-paying job.
The pastor, not one to mince words, or settle for poor workmanship, when it was obvious that the work had been shoddy, stared hard at the man he had called back to review specific areas in need of immediate improvement.
The workman hung his head, sheepishly acknowledging that they had rushed the work, and used a portion of the materials indicated on the manifest.
Not missing a beat, the pastor heaved a huge sigh, and intoned,
"Repaint, and thin no more."
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