The wolves ran free that sunburst evening emerging from the fog like ghosts with razor teeth. Emboldened for some reason, the canines set upon us as though having to have waited to do so for far to…
Source: The Wolf Among Us.
Day: March 21, 2016
Lowness
It is the lowness of small plants
Which gives them fortitude
When gales tear down trees and fences.
“And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire, a still small voice.” The Bible.
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Floating emoters
Life
National Wealth Service.
Floating Quotas
Life’s a Crime.
In your own Line
Newsrapers.
Telederision.
Imputers.
Medea.
Paying Fine.
Inland Cleverer than You.
Wealth Fax
Tax the Pure.
Smart yawns.
Democrassy.
The Right to Float.
Usury Rates.
Counsel Tact.
Tablets Moan.
Lapmops here.
Keep it Spleen
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Bode:An old Norse word
Dictionary.com
bode
[bohd]
verb (used with object), boded, boding.
1.
to be an omen of; portend:
The news bodes evil days for him.
2.
Archaic. to announce beforehand; predict.
verb (used without object), boded, boding.
3.
to portend:
The news bodes well for him.
Origin of bode1 Expand
Middle English Old English
1000before 1000; Middle English boden, Old English bodian to announce, foretell (cognate with Old Norse botha), derivative of boda messenger, cognate with German Bote, Old Norse bothi
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Foreboding
forebodingfɔːˈbəʊdɪŋ/
noun
noun: foreboding; plural noun: forebodings
-
1.a feeling that something bad will happen; fearful apprehension.“with a sense of foreboding she read the note”
synonyms:apprehension, apprehensiveness,anxiety, perturbation, trepidation,disquiet, disquietude, unease,uneasiness, misgiving, suspicion,worry, fear, fearfulness, dread, alarm;More antonyms: 
calm
adjective
adjective: foreboding
-
1.implying that something bad is going to happen.“when the Doctor spoke, his voice was dark and foreboding”
forebode
fɔːˈbəʊd/
verb
archaic
gerund or present participle: foreboding
-
(of a situation or occurrence) act as an advance warning of (something bad).“this lull foreboded some new assault upon him”
-
have a presentiment of (something bad).“I foreboded mischief the moment I heard”
-
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Living in harmony……..
Stunning images
‘Happiness is not a matter of intensity but of balance, order, rhythm and harmony. Thomas Merton
I have been thinking about a time in my life when I experienced a sense of what it is to live in a state of innocence and harmony.
After World War II – yet another hideous war which was supposed to be the war to end all wars, the powers that be decided that it was time to integrate the young people of Europe. All sorts of schemes and programmes were adopted. School children were encouraged to have pen pals from other countries and when possible to travel and meet one another.
Given that I grew up in Kent, not too far from the English Channel, where France can be seen from England on a clear day, I was one of many young people who were able to meet up…
View original post 259 more words
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Where are you?
Today I went for an ultrasound scan.Fortunately the result is good and I had a friend with me ;strangely it was not in the ultrasound department but in X ray so we had to walk much further.The journey back to the front door was tortuous.I seem to have become weak since I was ill for 4 months and it angers me to find I am not able to do what I expect.Although, given I am in fairly bad pain, it seems I am too harsh on myself.
Of course I am pleased with the outcome but later in the day I find I keep expecting my husband to be here so that I can tell him.
When people talk of returning to an empty house that is not quite how I would describe it.It seems to me as if there is a hole in the atmosphere of the house which was not there when my husband was alive and was working away from home.
Yes,there’s an empty space of a finite size,like a cocoon,where a person should be.I have dreamed about him but he does not say anything.He was very quiet but had an expressive face and presence.
Even when he was still alive he had stopped fully responding to me.I came home last April with good news that a biopsy result was ok.He was too far gone both health wise and emotionally since I’d been under treatment for a year.Fortunately I was able to look after him nearly all the time.
I keep looking round;I see dead roses; he’s not here.How can I tell him? I speak and ask him,where are you,but only silence answers me.He has left me behind like a bag that was not needed.But he needed me to help him to go.
When with my friend I felt like I usually do.But now the silence seems to shake like waves of air bouncing and roaming round the room. I’m too tired to speak on the phone.I need to eat.
Why don’t I see him like many people do their loved ones? Or is that bad?
Maybe the hole is inside me.Or Am I inside the hole?
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Lame Ministers of Britain.
Winsom Church Bill
Prince One Churchill
Dante in Eden.
Symphony Bleeding
Howled McMillan
Arid Back Filling.
Scarred Home
Sword Loom.
Imperilled Wilson.
Paroled Will’s Son
Dead Heath
Said Lethe
Carol Wilson.
Feral Pills Won
Nameless Carry-On.
Shameless Ferry Man
Hark at Scratcher.
Target Snatcher
Ron Made Her.
One Minor
Phoney Blair.
Loony Heir
Pardon Brown.
Fawning Clown
Pick Clegg
Sick Head
Solemn Cameron.
Waving Hammers On
Forge Sauce Bone?
Gorge Unborn
He ain’t dunkin’ pith?
Peeing, Drunk Hitsmith
Flu in Hell?
Woo the cell.
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I Wore This Dress Today for You, Mom,
American Life in Poetry: Column 574BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREA
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When I was a boy, because of the song, I thought there really was an Easter parade, but the Easters came and went without one. But here’s a glimpse of just a little piece of a parade by Kim Dower, who lives in Los Angeles. Her forthcoming book is Last Train to the Missing Planet, Red Hen Press, 2016.
I Wore This Dress Today for You, Mom, breezy, floral, dancing with color
soft, silky, flows as I walk
Easter Sunday and you always liked
to get dressed, go for brunch, “maybe
there’s a good movie playing somewhere?”
Wrong religion, we were not church-goers,
but New Yorkers who understood the value
of a parade down 5th Avenue, bonnets
in lavender, powder blues, pinks, hues
of spring, the hope it would bring.
We had no religion but we did have
noodle kugel, grandparents, dads
who could fix fans, reach the china
on the top shelf, carve the turkey.
That time has passed. You were the last
to go, mom, and I still feel bad I never
got dressed up for you like you wanted me to.
I had things, things to do. But today in L.A.—
hot the way you liked it—those little birds
you loved to see flitting from tree to tree—
just saw one, a twig in its mouth, preparing
a bed for its baby—might still be an egg,
I wish you were here. I’ve got a closet filled
with dresses I need to show you.
|
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I can’t read between your whines.
I can’t read between your whines.
My poetry is only mental floss.
Do you choose a flannel?
Where is my truth brush?
I need a big clean howl some days.
I mispaid the Pope’s men.
Where are the hand mischiefs?
I like Jewish bloomers with many happy seeds sprinkled on.
He’s anti-emitting anything.
I love Jesus for his behaviour.
Holy Week… we’ll be lucky to get a holy minute.
What’s wrong with bed scarves?More mystery,more allure.
I wear strange robes despite my health.
Whatever text!
God is bereaved again.
What do you stink your shoe in?
Get down of that Mabel.?
Never rush to the daughter.
What do you think you are suing?
Sex in marriage is an acrimony.
Were you never a virgin?
What’s so lad about that?
After Henry chewed her Katherine Parr re-harried quickly.Then died.
Thank the Lord I am still dear.
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Tolstoy on Shakespeare
The trees are calm for they have grown deep roots
When of the world of doctors,I am sick.
When diagnosis is not any aid
When from the choices given, I cannot pick
Although I feel my deepest debts were paid.
Then off from thinking I must take my mind
To gaze upon the beauty of the woods
And feel the sun not fiery, even kind.
It warms and heartens even my cold blood.
The trees are calm for they have grown deep roots
Though storms may strike their trunks and branches too
breaking off new tender green tipped shoots
They sway and take it without much to do.
Strength needs flexibility and give;
With no such, the brittle shall not live
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An old poem
In London town,I saw the moon.
It looked so darned impressive.
So I lay down upon my coat
Where I could write this missive.
After lying staring up,
I began to feel so lazy.
I thought I saw the Pope go by.
Do you think I’m going crazy?
He was in a large white car
Wrapped up well in tartan.
I know you won’t believe me but
I felt almost certain.
I went to a free soup kitchen,
As I’m a homeless person.
I saw ten angels looking down,
So I called to them “Stop staring”
I went inside a shop doorway
To get an hour of sleep.
I dreamed I dwelt in the old U K
It nearly made me weep.
If I really was in old England
I ‘d have the N.H.S.
I’d have a some benefits to spend
And a warm red Xmas dress
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Elemental as a storm
A force far deeper than our anger Elemental as a storm Annihilating all before it Terror makes man’s rage perform. This force saying self is threatened Runs to rise and to protect, Most murderous when we’re most alarmed Rage the enemy detects. Over-riding other feelings Deprives us of the power to think Like a nuclear tsunami Disconnecting human links. Reddened vision,focused,narrow; Eyes locked onto enemy’s All the wider context losing, Wipes out our good memories Like a mother tiger fighting, And the cornered eagle’s force; We will destroy what we think other Without bitter,pained remorse. Nature made such to protect us; Yet our perception can be wrong. Once the flood of feeling takes us All reflections seems too long Later, if we see our victims, Will we know that we have erred? For hate deceives ourselves and others When our inmost terror’s bared
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Is God happy?
They ask if our God may be sad
Or if people in heaven are glad
For if they look down
To us foolish clowns
The vision must drive them all mad.
Is eternity here in the now?
Do puzzles have to wrinkle the brow?
Live like a flower
Content in its bower.
And never ask God why or how.
As Jesus said,we all know
That what we reap we may have sown.
Purified intentions
Are worthy of mention.
And help all us humans to grow.
How my heart sings 