Tuesday, February 28, 2006


crush
a tribute to sal mineo



at what age did i awaken?
oh, not even 13
no, i had not even 1 curve
or indented place. no gentle
pink nippled hint of gender, just

scabby knees and baggy shorts
peter pan collars and keds
no, not even 13 but beyond barbies
and baby dolls

so many years and boys ago
he was my first. the first of the
impossibly big eyes and soft pouts
mouths made for kissing

in ways unfamiliar but in time
practiced to perfection, then not
yet 13 but suddenly awake
and eager to learn

why, the dark eyed boy with a
mouth made for kissing, a boy in
black and white on the living room t.v.
made me need to know.


this poem came about from another blog i read and a memory it jogged. s

i'm listening to o'rielly on kdka at this moment,i'm trying to be fair and balanced, (or perhaps it's penance for that candy bar i wasn't going to eat!)

oh god, i HOPE that someday, someday, he has to face a real adversity! he's
yakking about new orleans and how it's "just one of those things." and people just
need to get over it and move on and if you lost everything,
well, that's why there's insurance and blah blah...!


i hope there's some instant karma round the bend for him and the others
like him. they need to learn some life lessons! s
just wanted to share these. s





The most wonderful of all things in life is the discovery of another human being with whom one's relationship has a growing depth, beauty and joy as the years increase. This inner progressiveness of love between two human beings is a most marvellous thing; it cannot be found by looking for it or by passionately wishing for it. It is a sort of divine accident, and the most wonderful of all things in life. ~ by Sir Hugh Walpole ~



Love means to commit oneself without guarantee, to give oneself completely in the hope that our love will produce love in the loved person. Love is an act of faith, and whoever is of little faith is also of little love. ~ by Erich Fromm ~

Monday, February 27, 2006

when it's more


more than a bath
more than the old tub
with rusty streaks and
pale scoured circles

when its filled with
hot silky water, steam rising
the scent of expensive soap
melting a welcome

when it's more and
skin is pink and wet
when hair is damp and dark
when it's more than

a bath and i am alone
i think you a fool.

Sunday, February 26, 2006



this is bob. his eyes are a very

light blue, shows yellow from my camera. he's a handsome little fellow.

my thanks to ol'froth for teaching me how to post a picture! s

i'm really happy with the following guest posting from a fellow poet named chris george. chris had this thank you for the help he received in revising his original poem. i thought they too, should be mentioned. s

I am grateful to two critics over at Eratosphere for helping me to the present revision of this poem. Thanks to Katy Evans-Bush for pointing out this is in fact a life mask done four years before Blake's death and not a death mask of the visionary as I had thought. The original life mask is in the National Portrait Gallery in London. Also thanks to Greg Diprinzio for additional thoughts about the actual look of the poet-mystic's hooded eyes which I have taken the liberty of including in the below revision--
hi, this is the bio of a friend and fellow PK'r, chris george. the other day he posted a poem that just grabbed me, it just really grabbed me and i couldn't get it out of my thoughts so i asked him if he'd be kind enough to let me post it on my blog as soon as he felt he was finished with it. he was generous and agreed. this is his bio and then, the poem, WILLIAM BLAKE'S LIFE MASK,follows. chris is a true whirlwind of a man as you can see from his bio and when you check out his sites. i think you will enjoy the poem and the man. s




Christopher T. George was born in Liverpool, England in 1948 and first emigrated to the United States with his parents in 1955. He went back to Liverpool for a refresher on his Scouse accent, living with his grandparents while attending Rose Lane and Quarry Bank Schools. Chris returned to the U.S.A. in 1968 and has lived there ever since. He now lives in Baltimore, Maryland, near Johns Hopkins University with his wife Donna and two cats. Chris’s poetry has been published in print and on-line magazines on both sides of the Atlantic. Chris is the Editor of Desert Moon Review http://www.desertmoonreview.com/ and an editor at Writer's Block Poetry Workshop http://www.the-writers-block.net/forum/ He is also the lyricist for Jack—The Musical, written with French composer Erik Sitbon: http://www.jack-themusical.com/


http://christophertgeorge.blogspot.com/



William Blake's Life Mask



His hooded eyes are wrinkled walnuts,
peach pits, testicles, bulked-up fists
as if they still bulge with visions


-whirlwinds of lovers or souls
at the Last Judgement in muscle-
taut swirl of ecstasy and agony.


Christopher T. George

http://home.online.no/~kai-n/images/blakemask.jpg
William Blake's Life Mask

Saturday, February 25, 2006

Friday, February 24, 2006

HI BILL!
i just happened upon this. check it out. who knew???


www.thepittsburghmovie.com


i was just reading blogs and newspaper articles on my computer and this looked interesting so, here it is. cool!
an update on the mighty, mighty bob.(taking a break here from laundry, still recuperating from that bout of the creeping miseries)

he is growing so fast and his mask and markings are getting darker and his fur, less of that fluffy kitten snowball look and more adult like. he's 4 months now and into everything, mostly at night about every 4 hours straight through til 7 a.m! those kitty crazies, leaping and pouncing and scrambling through the place, under the bed one moment and attacking( no claws) my head or knees or feet or trying to steal the remote for the tv(he has a thing about stealing remotes!)he comes when called and loves to shred the morning paper while i'm trying to read it and sneak sips of my coffee(i caught him trying more than once, wonder what he'd do if he got to drink some? oh lordy a caffeined kitty!!!) so, that's about it. i'd say he's settled right in.
i got my new BEN AND JERRY'S CHUNKMAIL e-mail yesterday!

oh, the joy, the rapture, the excitement, i danced around the room
giddy with the news!

new flavors, and one, oh my,

VERMONTY PYTHON

now, besides being a python fan, i am an ice cream fanatic.
this one says it is a " coffee liquer ice cream with a chocolate
cookie crumb swirl and (oh can't wait...)CHOCOLATE COWS!!!!!"

i hope my local store carries it (pleasepleaseplease!!!!) s

i get this delivered to my e-mail every day. i thought this was a good one to share because some friends of mine, charlie most of all, have been dreaming a lot lately. it's interesting reading. s







Today's DailyOM brought to you by: DailyCD - Click for your free DailyCDhttp://www.dailyom.com/cgi-bin/display/sponsorlink.cgi?iid=33February 24,

2006Spiritual Imprints


Aboriginal DreamtimeEverything in the natural world leaves its mark on the earth. The Australian Aborigines, who have one of the longest continuous cultural histories of any group on earth, know this. Dreamtime, the spirituality and culture of the Aborigines, explains the origins and culture of the land and its people. In Aboriginal Dreaming, every meaningful activity, event, or life process is believed to leave behind a vibrational residue. Aborigines speak of the seed power deposited on the earth that all natural life brings forth known as jiva or guruwari. As plants leave an image of themselves as seeds, so too do the oceans, the mountains, and the smallest pebble. Everything in nature contains the memory of when they were created and vibrates with that life force. "Dreaming," in Aboriginal culture, is comprised of the knowledge, faith, and practices derived from the stories of creation and the history of Australia. Dreamtime ceremonies, rituals, stories, and drawings describe the time when humans, plants, and animals were created. Often referred to as the time before time, it was during Dreamtime that the ancestral spirits came to earth in human and other forms, creating rivers, lakes, hills, and deserts. When their work was done, the ancestral spirits became a part of the earth, changing into plants, animals, land, and the sky.The places the ancestral spirits traveled and where they came to rest was told to the Aborigines through Dreaming. Aborigines know that they do not own the land but are a part of it and that it is their duty to respect and look after the earth. Aboriginal Dreaming acknowledges that the ancestral spirits still reside in the natural world and their imprints resonate everywhere. The past is still alive and breathing today, as it will be in the future.
friday, CHICKEN JOKE DAY!


why did the chicken disappoint it's mother?

she wasn't what she was cracked up to be!!!!

Thursday, February 23, 2006

A poem records emotions and moods that lie beyond normal language, that can only be patched together and hinted at metaphorically.

Diane Ackerman (1948-?) American poet, writer and naturalist.
broken blossom



uncurled toward your heat
a warmth bright
like a birdsong sun.
outstretched fingers
soft translucent petals
fresh, pale pink and white
delicate veins trace my woman's hand
reached childlike
for an innocent dreamer
finding a casual and cruel hand
behind the song and silky dew.
rubbing me raw, grasped too tight
broken and limp before full bloom
perfume faint but slick on your fingers.


Chapter 78
Under heaven nothing is more soft and yielding than water.Yet for attacking the solid and strong, nothing is better;It has no equal.The weak can overcome the strong;The supple can overcome the stiff.Under heaven everyone knows this, yet no one puts it into practice.Therefore the sage says:He who takes upon himself the humiliation of the people is fit to rule them.He who takes upon himself the country's disasters deserves to be king of the universe.The truth often seems paradoxical.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

i just got this from my cousin linda, i liked it so i'm sharing it...


Fairies A married couple in their early 60s were out celebrating their 35th wedding anniversary in a quiet, romantic little restaurant. Suddenly, a tiny yet beautiful fairy appeared on their table and said, "For being such an exemplary married couple and for being faithful to each other for all this time, I will grant you each a wish." "Ooh, I want to travel around the world with my darling husband" said the wife.The fairy moved her magic wand and abracadabra! ... two tickets for the new QM2 luxury liner appeared in her hands.Now it was the husbands turn... He thought for a moment and said: "Well .. this is all very romantic, but an opportunity like this only occurs once in a lifetime, so, I'm sorry my love, but my wish is to have a wife 30 years younger than me".
The wife, and the fairy, were deeply disappointed ...but a wish is a wish.So the fairy made a circle with her magic wand and ...
abracadabra!the husband became 92 years old. The moral of this story
Men might be ungrateful idiots,But fairies are... FEMALE!


UNTITLED


my breath is
the look in your eyes
heart beats the cadence
of your name

your smile runs fast
through my veins as
smooth skin reaches
for your touch

my soul parts for your kiss
tho your absence still
runs down my cheek.
back, been sick, had the creeping miseries, not a cold really, some sort of virus thingy. i'm still kick'n, just not too high!!! s

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

True poets don't write Their thoughts with a pen... They release the ink that flows From within their heart. ~ by Anonymous ~
One word frees us Of all the weight and pain in life, That word is Love ~ by Socrates ~

Sunday, February 19, 2006

i've received a lot of feedback on the poem below,
"mona lisas in middle age". it is a poem open to the
reader's interpretation and how people view it or
what they think it is about comes, i see, from their
life experiences. it isn't about kind lies, trying to spare feelings
nor is it about nasty lies, trying to fool people,
tho some have thought that as well. i will leave it at that.
it is about those things if that is how you saw it, but that is not
what i had in mind. that is one of the best things about poetry
it can be a very intimate experience. s

Saturday, February 18, 2006

mona lisas in middle age


we smile because
we are good at it. smile
and people believe
whatever we may say

no matter how bruised the lie
smile and it's truth.

we smile with our eyes
most liars forget
it's their one flaw.

we never forget. we smile

because we are good at it
smile and believe that, maybe
it's harder to hit a mona lisa
that smiles.
Soul meets soul on lover's lips. ~ by Percy Bysshe Shelly ~



i loved this quote! s
it's surprising to me, that since i started this poetry/ eclectic little blog last summer that i hit my 500th posting with the last post. it is fate that it seems such an appropriate one at that. i've had over 3000 hits? i guess it's called, visitors, searchers for whatever here. welcome and hope you found something that touched you in any way that brought about any feelings. it's what i've aimed at here. that and to learn more about these things so i can be a better poet and human being. thanks much to all of you out there and to the blogging friends and acquaintances i've met along the way.

Friday, February 17, 2006

"Were it not for hope the heart would break."


Scottish proverb
sorry, no chicken joke this morning. just got the electricity back at about a quarter to one! tree fell on an power line and took out the whole pole! rats, it was cold! s

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

another chapter Tao Te Ching



Chapter 68

A good soldier is not violent.A good fighter is not angry.A good winner is not vengeful.A good employer is humble.This is known as the Virtue of not striving.This is known as ability to deal with others.This since ancient times has been known as the ultimate unity with heaven.

Monday, February 13, 2006

i fooled around on here all evening. i did laundry,
i tried to read, listen to music, answer letters,
dust, scrub, pace, even tried silliness on line with cartoons,
no, can't hide, so i found the quote below and
wrote my idea about it. i should know by now,
you can not hide from your heart.
" We understand death for the first time when
he puts his hand upon one whom we love"

Madame de Stael



no, i do not think so. i think we don't understand a damn thing
except the mechanics of death. the nuts and bolts, but the whys
of it, there are none, except that it is life. there are
no good answers to the whys of death as you drop a shovel of dirt
onto a tiny, white casket. s
i like foamy's new rant. it's about cell phones and "pre-owned cars!"

http://illwillpress.com/cell.html


be advised, it's pure foamy, foul mouthed little rodent!

Sunday, February 12, 2006

" Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of the night,
lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what a poet does."


Allen Ginsberg

Saturday, February 11, 2006

for Noah...


sail on

sail tiny captain
your infant's ark
stuffed elephants
plush bunnies and
fuzzy giraffes
two by two
tiny captain Noah
navigating heaven
sail on.


goodbye baby Noah, blessings and strength.
you were a bright light that still shines. peace. s

Friday, February 10, 2006

this is a reworking of an older poem




DIFFERENCES


WHAT DOES IT MATTER
WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES
EACH DIFFERENCE MAKE?

THE ONES EASILY SEEN,
THE ONES SILENTLY ENDURED
OR CELEBRATED?

DIFFERENCES
SECRET ONES HIDDEN IN
SHAME, FEAR PERHAPS?

WHO CARES
WHY CARE?

WHY, WHEN WE CAN
TOUCH OTHERS
IN LUST OR LOVE, MAYBE

EVEN WITH COMPASSION, BORN
FROM THE DIFFERENCES IN US,


LEARNED THROUGH THEM SILENTLY
OR AT FULL VOLUME
CHANGING LIVES MOSTLY
FOR THE BETTER

CHANGING OURSELVES ALONG THE WAY
MAKING US THE SAME IN OUR HUMANITY
LETTING US LIVE ON

THAT IS WHAT MATTERS
WHAT MAKES THE DIFFERENCE


LONG AFTER WE HAVE
MOVED ON.








Thursday, February 09, 2006

Wednesday, February 08, 2006

i was digging through my files and came across a poem that i had submitted back in sept. of 02 to my workgroup. i printed out their suggestions and put it away to work on at another time. most poets do file things away and then look at them later with a fresh eye and thoughts. i decided to post the original and the comments and rewrites i received to show the process for anyone just starting out. be forewarned the famous F word is in here. there's reason for that words usage here and not another "kinder" word for it. sometimes it is overused or used for a shock value or used to "sell" a weak poem. believe it or not, it is a word that is debated about quite seriously. it should be. tho even the placement of an, "and" or a "as" can make one stay up nights. it is also true that smaller poems are at times, much, much harder than longer works. it stands to reason, they have to say a lot with just the right words and are usually stronger and must be right to the point. my friend philip is a master of the short poem. he is featured in my blog and is one of the poets that helped me in this poem. my friend mick, who is no longer a member of my workgroup, but still a very unique and talented friend whose work is in this blog as well and dear, lynn. she has passed on, but her poetry was so good that i was envious of her words and proud of her at the same time. this is the original first draft. s i've done this once before, but i want to encourage people that want to write. if you want to, then do it, just start. your words are important. they matter.


openings

what a pity
that all you have ever done is fuck
wasting me.
you want me to open my legs,
not caring that i would open my soul
for one true feeling from you.

this is from mick

openings

this feeling
such a pity
all you've ever done is fuck
wasting me.
i open my legs
to your want
i would open my soul
for one true feeling from you
if you cared.

this is from philip


opine

what a pity
i feel
all you ever want
is
to open my legs
and without sentiment
all you will get
is
undisclosed.

now, if you read all 3 carefully, you will see that there really are
differences that shade the meaning.

lyn wrote this.

"this is how i read your work:
one wants the other to open their legs
the other wants them to open their heart/soul

the key word is open?
the use of the words "true feeling" is good.
i imagine the couple don't make love they simply fuck.
may i suggest you drop the statements and use more description?
maybe you could start with the sex and work toward the emptiness.
cheers.
lynn"


now lynn's suggestion was a good one and
an outline an idea that i've kept, but it
was her style of writing not mine and that would really have
been evident in the finished poem.

so, here is the finished work, with thanks to them all.




openings

what a pity
all you ever want
is opened legs
another fuck
wasting me
never caring
that i would open
my soul
for one true feeling
from you.



what do you think? i'd love some feedback for any of you.
you can comment here or e-mail at. afterthebridge@hotmail.com

thanks much. sherry

Tuesday, February 07, 2006

"You got to be careful if you don't know where you're going, because you might not get there."
- Yogi Berra




i just loved this quote! s
Chapter 76
A man is born gentle and weak.At his death he is hard and stiff.Green plants are tender and filled with sap.At their death they are withered and dry.Therefore the stiff and unbending is the disciple of death.The gentle and yielding is the disciple of life.Thus an army without flexibility never wins a battle.A tree that is unbending is easily broken.The hard and strong will fall.The soft and weak will overcome. Tao Te Ching
some days


there are days
that the living through leaves
a metallic taste

days that the need is like
breathing under brackish waters

but then there are some days
i wear a mona lisa smile.

Saturday, February 04, 2006

Friday, February 03, 2006

"bye bye miss american pie" don mclean


the day the music died they say, but music never dies.
why did the chicken cross the road halfway?

she wanted to lay it on the line!

Thursday, February 02, 2006

tumbler

a soul , i think it's mine
reflected in a
glass of scotch
can't tell
is it half full
or half empty ?

lao tsu's Tao Te Ching


Chapter 69

There is a saying amongst soldiers:I dare not make the first move but would rather play the guest;I dare not advance an inch but would rather withdraw a foot.This is called marching without appearing to move;Rolling up your sleeves without showing your arm;Capturing the enemy without attacking;Being armed without weapons.There is no greater catastrophe than underestimating the enemy.By underestimating the enemy, I almost lose what I value.Therefore when the battle is joined, the underdog will win.

Wednesday, February 01, 2006

"honey"


sweet man
wild honey
sticky sweet
with an edge
times, i wanna
stroke
that edge
just enough
to feel.
i got a neat recipe on the kitchen assistant from southern living
sounds like it might be good for a super bowl party!


honey chicken wings

1 cup salsa
1/4 cup honey
1/2 tsp ground ginger
1 1/2 lbs chicken wing pieces


stir together first 3 ingredients in large bowl
add wing pieces, tossing to coat.
place on foil lined 15x10 inch pan

bake at 400 degrees for 55 min. or
until done, turning once.
back to a little poetry



menu

hungry?
did you expect me
on the menu
served up like dessert

a strawberry sundae
some sugary treat
with whipped cream

the kitchen's closed.

GO ON A DIET!





a t.v. note.


IT'S ALIVE will be back in march with new shows,
BUT no reruns, phooey on them! s
tomorrow is groundhog day! that's a big favorite
of mine. it is just fun. i usually make groundhog cookies
no, not from groundhogs, ha!

years ago i ordered a groundhog cookie cutter
from the chamber of commerce up there. it
came with a great gingersnap recipe. i'd make dozens
of the little critters (raisins for eyes)and give them away.

this year, still have a creaky back from my flight
down the basement stairs months ago and
just can't roll and cut out those little buggers so, no cookies!


phooey! but i will still celebrate! GO PHIL! you cute little hog!
check out "bizarro" in today's PG. says it all!

Keith O. would agree!