Trees swaying in the wind
Leaves
blow
down.
Birds flying through the sky
look
for
lorn.
Winter edges ever nearer.
Frost and fog will soon appear.
Cats sleep cozy by the fire
I clean the mud off my bike tires.
Trees swaying to and fro
sig
nal
love,
.
Birds flowing on air currents.
You’re my dove
When he went away,
He said,”Lehitraot,mama.”
Do vstrechi.
He died but I’m still here
Yes,in my heart I feel his love.
But why did I live,
And he did not?
Auf wiedersehen
Lehitraot.
Yes,darling,I’ll see you later,
When the sky turns black and all the stars blaze bright
I’ll see you shining in the night.
I’ll see you in my dreams alas.
Do vstrechi.
But why you and not me too?
Araka
I can’t understand.
Lehitraot,beloved.
A plus tard
Some where in this world,you fell
But no-one,not even God, can tell.
God was absent then or in some other place
He’s gone again.
They said He’s died too,
But He didn’t have a mother like you.
Do vstrechi.
My breasts ache and my heart and soul,
My breasts were made to make you whole.
To feed, give love and to console.
A plus tard
And now they ache with grief as my tears fall.
A bientot
My body trembles in the night
As dreams may bring my lost ones to my sight.
A plus
I’d walk across the roughest bleak terrain
If l I could find my loves and hold your hands again.
Do vstrechi.
The bell rings on the ancient clock
As time goes on as normal ,it doesn’t stop.
Araka
I wish the hands of time could be reversed,
And I was not living with this curse.
People forget that I once had a son.
They think my grieving has been done.
Araka.
But grief and loss and pain will never end
Until the curtain of my death descends
Auf wiedersehen.
Meantime I look at flowers and birds and trees,
But it’s really you my deepening insight sees.
Lehitraot.
Th inscape of my heart is shown to few,
An artist of the lost would know this view.
I know I want to see just you.
Do vstrechi.
But for me there is no
Auf wiedersehen
Never again will you say
What you said that day
Lehitraot,
Mama.
Papa
A plus tard
Tot ziens.
See you later
See you soon.
See you.
You
We are in our boat together
Sailing across the bay.
Some have an easy voyage,
The wind is blowing their way.
I wish I could always be sailing
Across a wide ocean with you
And never reach the other side
though it may be in view.
I want to see the sunrise
Across the dappled sea.
The ripples of the water
Reveal a new world to me.
One day this boat will reach the shore
Unless destroyed by storm
And I shall have to leave your arms
Where I have been so warm.
So just before we get there
I wanted you to know
That I shall always love you
No matter where you go.
Let your lips meet gently,
the top one resting against the lower,
touching with tenderness
your own skin to skin.
Forefinger propped on chin,
I let the others dangle,
like leaves on a branch;
how softly gravity tugs them downwards.
Let heart beat quietly,slowly
as the blood circulates
carrying its music ,
a river,
following the path of least resistance.
How the blood vessels receive willingly this flow,
touching it kindly as with tiny open fingers,
helping and being helped.
How the hair on the head
floats
on the breeze,
like tentacles of an octopus
waving goodbye.
Top eyelid loves the lower one;
as we blink they touch
like lovers kissing swiftly
behind a tree.
and how the light comes in
we see a world.
[mine may not be yours,]
but the blink of my eyelid
sends waves through the air,
so we’re all touching and being touched,
lips kissing each other,
kiss all living creatures.
skin to skin.
air to air.
And inside us,the rich darkness
of creative night
transforms,in turn,
these touches
into dreams
While his wife went out to play.
He cooked a pie of frogs and cress,
He wanted to impress.
Stan was wearing his old clothes.
Where old clothes come from,no-one knows.
He meant to change when he was done,
So he and Mary could have fun.
But Anne his neighbour rang the bell,
Stan was so surprised he fell.
He hit his head upon the stove,
And his poor scalp turned blue and mauve.
Ring 999 and ask for Dave,
This man is old yet must be saved.
The paramedic gave him glue
To stick together his old shoe.
Then he rubbed on arnica.
Stan’s head looks like Guernica.
“Get the camera,take a pic.”
Stan was feeling rather sick.
“How can you use my wounds as art?
Rest assured I’ll take no part.”
He hit the camera with his stick,
And felled his mistress with a brick.
So now they’re in a mixed sex ward,
This experience can be shared.
They get their food at 3 am
Half for the ladies,half for the men.
The doctor asked them what went wrong.
Both of them had lost their tongues.
Neither would say what they’d done!
Now their anger is all gone.
The moral of my myth is this:
Being unfaithful is not bliss.
Mistresses can be a pain,
Especially if they’re very vain.
And better not to look for love,
Except with cats or sweet white doves.
Let your neighbour love you less!
And don’t make comments on her dress.
And as for voyeurs,keep a crutch.
Hit them hard, but not too much.
If they want a work of Art,
Tell them home is where to start
Wise post
Yes, I screwed it all up! What I am talking about here is my work. Yesterday, I screwed up because I overlooked some mistakes because I am hurrying to get home. To make it short, I will not discuss in detail but I will just summarize what happened. I am making an operations manual last night, geeez.
I accidentally used an auto-text (that is supposed to be a ‘word’ only) that made the sentence changed a very important thought that needs emphasis. Thus, the whole gist of the paragraph was altered. See, even a single word can have a tremendous effect. All because I am not careful with my auto-text. The auto-text is originally ‘will be displayed’ when in fact all I want to use is just the word ‘will’. When you are using auto-text, the tool tip will show and you can just press the Enter key to make…
View original post 212 more words
Very wise post
The Reembody blog, up to this point, has been a thoughtful exploration of human movement, a subject about which I am extremely passionate.
Today, however, I’m mad and I’m going to tell you why.
I have been planning a blog post for a while on fitness misinformation, and it was originally going to be the same kind of thoughtful deconstruction found in my other installments. But then I read this and it was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever found in my newsfeed: so beautiful, in fact, that the rest of the health and fitness propaganda floating around Facebook like turds in a pool started to really, really piss me off.
So thoughtful deconstruction has been postponed for another day. Instead, we’re going to take a good look at a few of those turds and get pissed off together because, when someone preys upon your insecurities in an effort…
View original post 1,993 more words
I had many of my poems on a site called HubPages.Two weeks ago they emailed me to say I was in their top 6 per cent of writers.Three days after that I found I had been banned.They did not warn me or offer me any choices.I had just posted a new poem about finding your sacred vocation in life.
I think it may be because of some demands Google Adsense is making,I did not have ads on my pages but I see most people do,It’s all to do with money
So I am moving my poems and stories off that site day by day.
When you speak,leave a little space.
And I’ll leave a little space before I respond.
A space where my mind can gather in her nets
to see what your sentences draw up.
The inner seas call out.
They ebb and flow
Tossing treasures onto the shore,like
Sea shells where once your ancestors dwelt.
Sometimes it’s good to walk that shore line
with an empty mind.
The vast space of the sky and ocean
can be freeing.
Space for dreamers’ boats to sail.
to unknown and alluring places.
Is the wind fair?
It seems partly chance
and partly readiness.
When you speak to me,
I’ll wait a moment;
Then, in that space, my words will rise
to engage and mingle with yours.
Something new is born…….
Our creation.
Leave a little space,
A little space between us.
Space is the place for grace,
for the spirit to enter us.
Leave a little space for the unknown,unborn,the waiting.
We must spare a little space for creation
In between our minds.
The in-between is where life starts
I play on my cello.
Your music is poignant;
My music is mellow.
I can’t play from your music;
You can’t play from mine.
Our music must be transposed,
But will not be the same.
I have longer fingers.
You have bigger hands.
You play some from memories
which I don’t understand.
I play from my own history,
You compose your own.
You have tragic feelings,
which I have never known.
Would you play my music?
Then it must be transposed;
but we can’t transpose our feelings,
Unless we are shown
how to draw out symbols
From the dark Unknown.
I love the music that you play
and I know you do love mine.
But can we play together
with a meaningful design?
Transposing keys and feelings
Is an arduous,lengthy task;
Much easier to play falsely
and never,never ask.
I can’t share your lifetime hurts
and you cannot share mine.
Is it easier to share happiness
and in love to entwine?
Oh,play your poignant music for me
with your meditative art.
I shall listen with my ears
and listen with my heart.
And then I shall respond to you.
My instrument is here.
I am playing quite new music.
I feel you drawing near.
Suddenly we are moved to play
A completely new design.
I seem to feel your feelings
And I can hear that you feel mine.
Together we seem to make a work
Of torment and release.
This music is so tragic,
Yet its design has brought me peace.
Play on,play on,for now I know
I begin to understand,
without more words or gestures
than those from your curved hands
Oh,Stan is feeling happy.
His wife has gone away.
She’s gone out to Australia.
She won’t be home till May.
Oh,Stan has got a mistress.
She lives next door to him.
She is very curvy.
She won’t go to the gym!
Her first name it is Annie.
She loves Stan and his cat.
She wears far too much makeup.
Her cheeks are very fat.
She wears bright coloured stockings.
Her handbag’s apple green.
She wears a dark red jacket,
In case she meets the Queen.
Stan loves Annie dearly.
He loves his wife as well.
What will be the outcome?
I’m damned if I can tell.
They’ve been in this threesome
For twenty seven years;
Even though Stan’s mother
Said it would end in tears.
Mary is Stan’s wife.
They only had one child.
Her name is little Lyra.
and she is very wild.
She looks quite like a tiger.
Her eyes are very sharp.
But Lyra’s a musician.
She plays an Irish harp.
Stan wanted more children,
But Mary went off sex.
She never let him love her
Except via a text.
She called him her sweet baby.
She called him little lamb.
Stan gets very angry.
For Stanley is a man.
He wants to join with Mary
Like couples usually do.
He wants to unite with her
But she always has the flu.
So now she’s giving lectures
In the southern hemisphere.
So Stan makes love to Annie
And swigs ten pints of beer.
The cat Emile is watching.
He keeps a daily log.
Stan has bedded Annie
Right there on the rug.
He’d vacuumed it that morning
To Emile’s great surprise.
The antics performed on it
Have opened Emile’s eyes.
Now they go to the kitchen
And microwave a meal.
Then Stan says to Annie
“I like the way you feel. ”
How my heart sings 