Monday, April 30, 2007

nighty nite, gonna get things wrapped up and wait to watch countdown!

i will end poetry month with one of mine.
i guess cause it's my blog i can do that and not seem like an
ass with a ego the size of a rhinoceros (i hope)

anyway, this poem came from a day a long, long, looonnnnngggg
time ago:

the summer of 68

half empty bottle of Boone's Farm apple
blue jeans soft with the scent of patchouli
he looked up at me, crumpled
the yellow sheet of notebook paper
tossed it back at my face

said i was a "fucking genius"
as if he had said i was a narc
then he got up from the shade of
the only tree around, snatched the poem up

smoothed the wrinkles against his thigh
handed it back and smiled. i, well
i said i was " just fucking nuts, is all."

"but babe, it really does suit you."
yeah, did back in 68
still does, yeah, damn straight it does!

(Words and Music by Bob Dylan)
1965 Warner Bros. Inc
Renewed 1993 Special Rider Music

The sweet pretty things are in bed now of course
The city fathers they're trying to endorse
The reincarnation of Paul Revere's horse
But the town has no need to be nervous

The ghost of Belle Starr she hands down her wits
To Jezebel the nun she violently knits
A bald wig for Jack the Ripper who sits
At the head of the chamber of commerce

Mama's in the fact'ry
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy's in the alley
He's lookin' for the fuse
I'm in the streets
With the tombstone blues

The hysterical bride in the penny arcade
Screaming she moans, "I've just been made"
Then sends out for the doctor who pulls down the shade
Says, "My advice is to not let the boys in"

Now the medicine man comes and he shuffles inside
He walks with a swagger and he says to the bride
"Stop all this weeping, swallow your pride
You will not die, it's not poison"

Mama's in the fact'ry
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy's in the alley
He's lookin' for the fuse
I'm in the streets
With the tombstone blues

Well, John the Baptist after torturing a thief
Looks up at his hero the Commander-in-Chief
Saying, "Tell me great hero, but please make it brief
Is there a hole for me to get sick in?"

The Commander-in-Chief answers him while chasing a fly
Saying, "Death to all those who would whimper and cry"
And dropping a bar bell he points to the sky
Saving, "The sun's not yellow it's chicken"

Mama's in the fact'ry
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy's in the alley
He's lookin' for the fuse
I'm in the streets
With the tombstone blues

The king of the Philistines his soldiers to save
Put jawbones on their tombstones and flatters their graves
Puts the pied pipers in prison and fattens the slaves
Then sends them out to the jungle

Gypsy Davey with a blowtorch he burns out their camps
With his faithful slave Pedro behind him he tramps
With a fantastic collection of stamps
To win friends and influence his uncle

Mama's in the fact'ry
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy's in the alley
He's lookin' for the fuse
I'm in the streets
With the tombstone blues

The geometry of innocence flesh on the bone
Causes Galileo's math book to get thrown
At Delilah who sits worthlessly alone
But the tears on her cheeks are from laughter

Now I wish I could give Brother Bill his great thrill
I would set him in chains at the top of the hill
Then send out for some pillars and Cecil B. DeMille
He could die happily ever after

Mama's in the fact'ry
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy's in the alley
He's lookin' for the fuse
I'm in the streets
With the tombstone blues

Where Ma Raney and Beethoven once unwrapped their bed roll
Tuba players now rehearse around the flagpole
And the National Bank at a profit sells road maps for the soul
To the old folks home and the college

Now I wish I could write you a melody so plain
That could hold you dear lady from going insane
That could ease you and cool you and cease the pain
Of your useless and pointless knowledge

Mama's in the fact'ry
She ain't got no shoes
Daddy's in the alley
He's lookin' for the fuse
I'm in the streets
With the tombstone blues
(Words and Music by Bob Dylan)
1962 Warner Bros. Inc
Renewed 1990 Special Rider Music

How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
Yes, 'n' how many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they're forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, 'n' how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, 'n' how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

How many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, 'n' how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, 'n' how many times can a man turn his head,
Pretending he just doesn't see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind,
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
(Words and Music by Bob Dylan)
1965 Warner Bros. Inc
Renewed 1993 Special Rider Music

Johnny's in the basement
Mixing up the medicine
I'm on the pavement
Thinking about the government
The man in the trench coat
Badge out, laid off
Says he's got a bad cough
Wants to get it paid off
Look out kid
It's somethin' you did
God knows when
But you're doin' it again
You better duck down the alley way
Lookin' for a new friend
The man in the coon-skin cap
In the big pen
Wants eleven dollar bills
You only got ten

Maggie comes fleet foot
Face full of black soot
Talkin' that the heat put
Plants in the bed but
The phone's tapped anyway
Maggie says that many say
They must bust in early May
Orders from the D. A.
Look out kid
Don't matter what you did
Walk on your tip toes
Don't try "No Doz"
Better stay away from those
That carry around a fire hose
Keep a clean nose
Watch the plain clothes
You don't need a weather man
To know which way the wind blows

Get sick, get well
Hang around a ink well
Ring bell, hard to tell
If anything is goin' to sell
Try hard, get barred
Get back, write braille
Get jailed, jump bail
Join the army, if you fail
Look out kid
You're gonna get hit
But users, cheaters
Six-time losers
Hang around the theaters
Girl by the whirlpool
Lookin' for a new fool
Don't follow leaders
Watch the parkin' meters

Ah get born, keep warm
Short pants, romance, learn to dance
Get dressed, get blessed
Try to be a success
Please her, please him, buy gifts
Don't steal, don't lift
Twenty years of schoolin'
And they put you on the day shift
Look out kid
They keep it all hid
Better jump down a manhole
Light yourself a candle
Don't wear sandals
Try to avoid the scandals
Don't wanna be a bum
You better chew gum
The pump don't work
'Cause the vandals took the handles

since feeling is first

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a far better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
--the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for eachother: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis

ee cummings

every now and then i crave peanut butter.
jif has some great recipes.

I Like For You to be Still"
By Pablo Neruda

I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
and you hear me from far away and my voice does not touch you.
It seems as though your eyes had flown away
and it seems that a kiss had sealed your mouth.

As all things are filled with my soul
you emerge from the things, filled with my soul.
You are like my soul, a butterfly of dream,
and you are like the word Melancholy.

I like for you to be still, and you seem far away.
It sounds as though you were lamenting, a butterfly cooing like a dove.
And you hear me from far away, and my voice does not reach you:
Let me come to be still in your silence.

And let me talk to you with your silence
that is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring.
You are like the night, with its stillness and constellations.
Your silence is that of a star, as remote and candid.

I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
distant and full of sorrow as though you had died.
One word then, one smile, is enough.
And I am happy, happy that it's not true.
enough silliness for now!

Your Celebrity Boob Twin:


i'm not saying a word! ; )
taking a rest. been carting some stones up
from the small woods at the end of my yard.

so, of course, what better way to
just sit down and do nothing...

TA DA, blogthingys!

You Are a Pundit Blogger!

Your blog is smart, insightful, and always a quality read.
Truly appreciated by many, surpassed by only a few

"Si Tu Me Olvidas"
By Pablo Neruda
En Español:
(In Spanish)

Quiero que sepas
una cosa.

Tú sabes cómo es esto:
si miro
la luna de cristal, la rama roja
del lento otoño en mi ventana,
si toco
junto al fuego
la impalpable ceniza
o el arrugado cuerpo de la leña,
todo me lleva a ti,
como si todo lo que existe:
aromas, luz, metales,
fueran pequeños barcos que navegan
hacia las islas tuyas que me aguardan.

Ahora bien,
si poco a poco dejas de quererme
dejaré de quererte poco a poco.

Si de pronto
me olvidas
no me busques,
que ya te habré olvidado.

Si consideras largo y loco
el viento de banderas
que pasa por mi vida
y te decides
a dejarme a la orilla
del corazón en que tengo raíces,
que en esa día,
a esa hora
levantaré los brazos
y saldrán mis raíces
a buscar otra tierra.

si cada día,
cada hora,
sientes que a mí estás destinada
con dulzura implacable,
si cada día sube
una flor a tus labios a buscarme,
ay amor mío, ay mía,
en mí todo ese fuego se repite,
en mí nada se apaga ni se olvida,
mi amor se nutre de tu amor, amada,
y mientras vivas estará en tus brazos
sin salir de los míos.

"If You Forget Me"
By Pablo Neruda
In English:
(En Inglés)

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists:
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loveing me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

i just adore neruda

Sunday, April 29, 2007

when you read the article below i'd like you to remember the
words, "volunteer state militia" and think about that.

Memorial Honors Indian Massacre Victims



SAND CREEK MASSACRE NATIONAL HISTORIC SITE, Colo. (April 28) - More than 142 years after a band of state militia volunteers massacred 150 sleeping Southern Cheyenne and Arapaho Indians in a misdirected act of vengeance, a memorial to the tragic event was officially dedicated Saturday.

Wyoming Tribune-Eagle / AP
Northern Arapaho tribe member Donald Antelope attends a 2006 event at the Sand Creek Massacre site. In 1864, 700 militia members murdered 150 Southern Cheyenne and Arapaho Indians there.

Talk About It: Post Thoughts
The Sand Creek Massacre National Historic Site, located 160 miles southeast of Denver on Big Sandy Creek in Kiowa County, pays tribute to those killed in the shameful Nov. 29, 1864, attack.

Seeking revenge for the killings of several settlers by Indians, 700 militia members slaughtered nearly everyone in the village. Most were women or children.

Descendants of some of the victims were among several hundred people at Saturday's dedication on the rolling hills of the southeastern Colorado plains. The crowd gathered a few hundred feet from a stand of cottonwood trees along the creek that historians believe marks the site of the killings.

After a prayer and a blessing for the troops in Iraq , members of the Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes chanted and played drums.

"It's a site of shame, but it's finally being memorialized properly," said David Halaas, a former state historian.

Eyewitness accounts of the attack include a letter from Lt. Joseph Cranmer: "A squaw ripped open and a child taken from her. Little children shot while begging for their lives."

Tribe descendants claim they can still hear the children cry when they visit the site.

"If there were any savages that day, it was not the Indian people," said former Sen. Ben Nighthorse Campbell, R-Colo., a member of the Northern Cheyenne tribe.

Most Popular - Last 24 Hours
Working Replica of Noah's Ark OpensQuake Raises WWII Ship From Sea FloorExperts Claim to Solve Mass Grave MysteryScientists Investigate Ocean's 'Twilight Zone''Mermaid Baby' Marks Another MilestoneCampbell, who sponsored the legislation making the spot a national historic site, said he slept beside the creek Friday night "to get a picture" of what the people saw before the attack.

"I think it is the greatest testimony of the strength of a nation - that you are big enough and strong enough to acknowledge the cruelties and injuries of the past," said Patricia Limerick, chairwoman of the University of Colorado's Center of the American West and author of "Legacy of Conquest."

The attack was recognized almost immediately as criminal. Congress condemned it and President Lincoln fired territorial Gov. John Evans.

Witnesses told a congressional hearing that the victims were not hostile. Indian trader John S. Smith testified that the militia's leader, Col. John Chivington, knew the band at Sand Creek was peaceful and was not involved in the attacks on settlers.

But Chivington, a Methodist minister known as "the fighting parson," was feted by Denver residents as a hero after the raid. They were terrified that the Confederacy would use Indians as their surrogates to wage war on them.

"Among the brilliant feats of arms in Indian warfare, the recent campaign of our Colorado volunteers will stand in history with few rivals, and none to exceed it in final results," read an editorial in the Rocky Mountain News at the time.

A Civil War memorial installed at the Colorado Capitol in 1909 listed Sand Creek as a great Union victory. But a plaque was added in 2002 giving details of the massacre to set the record straight.

The Indians were camped at a site assigned to them by the Army. When the attack started, Southern Cheyenne Chief Black Kettle hurriedly hoisted a U.S. flag above his lodge, but to no avail. Black Kettle survived but was killed in an attack at Washita, Okla., in 1868 by soldiers led by Col. George Armstrong Custer.

Since some of the victims of the attack were of mixed blood - the descendants of Indians and white fur traders - whites today also have a reason to revere the memorial, said Limerick.

"There may be stories of equal anguish in our history but this is right up at the top. In a strange way, it is a basis for national pride," she said.

i don't have this movie.
i have to get it.
it's one of the few musicals i love.

if you haven't seen it, go find it. ; )
Henry David Thoreau

Pray to What Earth

Pray to what earth does this sweet cold belong,
Which asks no duties and no conscience?
The moon goes up by leaps, her cheerful path
In some far summer stratum of the sky,
While stars with their cold shine bedot her way.
The fields gleam mildly back upon the sky,
And far and near upon the leafless shrubs
The snow dust still emits a silver light.
Under the hedge, where drift banks are their screen,
The titmice now pursue their downy dreams,
As often in the sweltering summer nights
The bee doth drop asleep in the flower cup,
When evening overtakes him with his load.
By the brooksides, in the still, genial night,
The more adventurous wanderer may hear
The crystals shoot and form, and winter slow
Increase his rule by gentlest summer means.
a sunday hello to pudd'n and gl.

just took this.
pretty spring sunday, but chilly!

bob, posing next to a 10 lb. bag of potatoes.

he's heavier!
i couldn't let poetry month slip away without
at least 1 poem by jim bennett:

walking on the mesa

we walked out here
across the mesa
in the brilliance of night
and on the darkest of days
saw it crisp with frost
wet with dew
covered in cloud
and bright with summer
heard the birds
and the crickets
saw the flowers bloom
watched them
turn brown and die

now the first shoots
of the spring crocus's
are emerging in clumps
through the dark earth
the wintered trees
in-bud again
the cold air
once more
with summer

and all this still happens
even though

you are no longer here
to see it

[somewhere i have never travelled]

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands

Saturday, April 28, 2007

philip lamantia


O beato solitudo! Where have I flown to?
stars overturn the wall of my music
as flight of birds, they go by, the spirits
opened below the lark of plenty
ovens of neant overflow the docks at Veracruz
This much is time
summer coils the soft suck of night
loan unseen Eagles crash thru mud
I am worn like an old sack by the celestial bum
I'm dropping my eyes were all the trees turn on fire!
I'm mad to go to you, Solitude - who will carry me there?
I wedged in this collision of planets/Tough!
I'm the trumpet of King David
The sinister elevator tore itself limb by limb

You cannot close
You cannot open
You break your head
You make bloody bread!

i love youtube!

this is for me from me.

and for my popop and gramma who have gone on.

waits and bono /bukowski!!!!!

i would have bet heavy money that THIS wasn't on youtube.

i would have lost!

rain, rain, but the woods are greening.


by: Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)

At midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An opiate vapor, dewy, dim,
Exhales from out her golden rim,
And, softly dripping, drop by drop,
Upon the quiet mountain top,
Steals drowsily and musically
Into the universal valley.
The rosemary nods upon the grave;
The lily lolls upon the wave;
Wrapping the fog about its breast,
The ruin molders into rest;
Looking like Lethe, see! the lake
A conscious slumber seems to take,
And would not, for the world, awake.
All Beauty sleeps!--and lo! where lies
Irene, with her Destinies!

O, lady bright! can it be right--
This window open to the night?
The wanton airs, from the tree-top,
Laughingly through the lattice drop--
The bodiless airs, a wizard rout,
Flit through thy chamber in and out,
And wave the curtain canopy
So fitfully--so fearfully--
Above the closed and fringed lid
'Neath which thy slumb'ring soul lies hid,
That, o'er the floor and down the wall,
Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!
Oh, lady dear, hast thou no fear?
Why and what art thou dreaming here?
Sure thou art come O'er far-off seas,
A wonder to these garden trees!
Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress,
Strange, above all, thy length of tress,
And this all solemn silentness!

The lady sleeps! Oh, may her sleep,
Which is enduring, so be deep!
Heaven have her in its sacred keep!
This chamber changed for one more holy,
This bed for one more melancholy,
I pray to God that she may lie
For ever with unopened eye,
While the pale sheeted ghosts go by!

My love, she sleeps! Oh, may her sleep
As it is lasting, so be deep!
Soft may the worms about her creep!
Far in the forest, dim and old,
For her may some tall vault unfold--
Some vault that oft has flung its black
And winged panels fluttering back,
Triumphant, o'er the crested palls,
Of her grand family funerals--
Some sepulchre, remote, alone,
Against whose portal she hath thrown,
In childhood, many an idle stone--
Some tomb from out whose sounding door
She ne'er shall force an echo more,
Thrilling to think, poor child of sin!
It was the dead who groaned within.

Friday, April 27, 2007

been a busy day, grocery shopping, got an prescription filled, went to the bank
and searched a few websites for some needed forms.

still have a ton of stuff to do before tonight.

oh well. better to be busy than bored! ; )

Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Maya Angelou

yes, got THIS look again today!


Thursday, April 26, 2007

tomorrow's joke tonight...

a couple lived near the ocean and used to walk the beach a lot. One Summer they noticed a girl who was at the beach pretty much every day. She wasn't unusual, nor was the travel bag she carried, except for one thing; she would approach people who were sitting on the beach, glance around furtively, then speak to them.

Generally the people would respond negatively and she would wander off, but occasionally someone would nod and there would be a quick exchange of money and something she carried in her bag.

The couple assumed she was selling drugs, and debated calling the Cops, but since they didn't know for sure they just continued to watch her.

After a couple of weeks the wife said, "Honey, have you ever noticed that she only goes up to people with boom boxes and other electronic devices?"

He hadn't, and said so.

Then she said, "Tomorrow I want you to get a towel and our big radio and go lie out on the beach. Then we can find out what she's really doing."

Well, the plan went off without a hitch and the wife was almost hopping up and down with anticipation when she saw the girl talk to her husband and then leave. The man walked up the beach and met his wife at the road.

Well, is she selling drugs?" she asked excitedly.

"No, she's not," he said, enjoying this probably more than he should have.

"Well, what is it, then? What does she do?" his wife fairly shrieked.

The man grinned and said, "Her name is Sally, and she's a battery salesperson."

"Batteries?" cried the wife.

"Yes," he replied.

You're gonna hate me for this...

She sells C cells by the seashore.

told ya!

i'm making a pot of coffee and
breathing slow deep breaths.


i love this song.
they play it a lot at the little club i belong to
at dances!

i will get up and dance to this!!!! ; )
pretty day today.
rain later.
not too chill for me right now.
my hive buzzes
tended by a knowing hand
the honey comb fills sweet

well what do you know?

PITTSBURGH has been named " the most livable city" again!

been years, but we did it again.

they say we are the ONLY place to have done that.


Wednesday, April 25, 2007

had to turn the furnace back on!
damp and cold seeps into bones.

i didn't think youtube would have any singing bowls.
i should have known better!

i have 1 cd of them.
i enjoy it .

one of my favorites below:

give a look, maybe a donation if you can.
i know there are a lot of great causes out there
but this one may save your life someday.

a lot of their research will be, i know,
helpful in battling cancers in the future
let alone, helping NF patients today.
Sunflower Sutra

by Allen Ginsberg

I walked on the banks of the tincan banana dock and
sat down under the huge shade of a Southern
Pacific locomotive to look at the sunset over the
box house hills and cry.
Jack Kerouac sat beside me on a busted rusty iron
pole, companion, we thought the same thoughts
of the soul, bleak and blue and sad-eyed, sur-
rounded by the gnarled steel roots of trees of
The oily water on the river mirrored the red sky, sun
sank on top of final Frisco peaks, no fish in that
stream, no hermit in those mounts, just our-
selves rheumy-eyed and hungover like old bums
on the riverbank, tired and wily.
Look at the Sunflower, he said, there was a dead gray
shadow against the sky, big as a man, sitting
dry on top of a pile of ancient sawdust--
--I rushed up enchanted--it was my first sunflower,
memories of Blake--my visions--Harlem
and Hells of the Eastern rivers, bridges clanking Joes
Greasy Sandwiches, dead baby carriages, black
treadless tires forgotten and unretreaded, the
poem of the riverbank, condoms & pots, steel
knives, nothing stainless, only the dank muck
and the razor-sharp artifacts passing into the
and the gray Sunflower poised against the sunset,
crackly bleak and dusty with the smut and smog
and smoke of olden locomotives in its eye--
corolla of bleary spikes pushed down and broken like
a battered crown, seeds fallen out of its face,
soon-to-be-toothless mouth of sunny air, sun-
rays obliterated on its hairy head like a dried
wire spiderweb,
leaves stuck out like arms out of the stem, gestures
from the sawdust root, broke pieces of plaster
fallen out of the black twigs, a dead fly in its ear,
Unholy battered old thing you were, my sunflower O
my soul, I loved you then!
The grime was no man's grime but death and human
all that dress of dust, that veil of darkened railroad
skin, that smog of cheek, that eyelid of black
mis'ry, that sooty hand or phallus or protuber-
ance of artificial worse-than-dirt--industrial--
modern--all that civilization spotting your
crazy golden crown--
and those blear thoughts of death and dusty loveless
eyes and ends and withered roots below, in the
home-pile of sand and sawdust, rubber dollar
bills, skin of machinery, the guts and innards
of the weeping coughing car, the empty lonely
tincans with their rusty tongues alack, what
more could I name, the smoked ashes of some
cock cigar, the cunts of wheelbarrows and the
milky breasts of cars, wornout asses out of chairs
& sphincters of dynamos--all these
entangled in your mummied roots--and you there
standing before me in the sunset, all your glory
in your form!
A perfect beauty of a sunflower! a perfect excellent
lovely sunflower existence! a sweet natural eye
to the new hip moon, woke up alive and excited
grasping in the sunset shadow sunrise golden
monthly breeze!
How many flies buzzed round you innocent of your
grime, while you cursed the heavens of the rail-
road and your flower soul?
Poor dead flower? when did you forget you were a
flower? when did you look at your skin and
decide you were an impotent dirty old locomo-
tive? the ghost of a locomotive? the specter and
shade of a once powerful mad American locomo-
You were never no locomotive, Sunflower, you were a
And you Locomotive, you are a locomotive, forget me
So I grabbed up the skeleton thick sunflower and stuck
it at my side like a scepter,
and deliver my sermon to my soul, and Jack's soul
too, and anyone who'll listen,
--We're not our skin of grime, we're not our dread
bleak dusty imageless locomotive, we're all
beautiful golden sunflowers inside, we're bles-
sed by our own seed & golden hairy naked ac-
complishment-bodies growing into mad black
formal sunflowers in the sunset, spied on by our
eyes under the shadow of the mad locomotive
riverbank sunset Frisco hilly tincan evening sit-
down vision.

Berkeley, 1955

the animal's song reminded me to post this.
this is one by nikki giovanni.

she is a gift.


I love you
because the Earth turns round the sun
because the North wind blows north
because the Pope is Catholic
and most Rabbis Jewish
because winters flow into spring
and the air clears after a storm
because only my love for you
despite the charms of gravity
keeps me from falling off the Earth
into another dimension
I love you
because it is the natural order of things
I love you
like the habit I picked up in college
of sleeping through lectures
or saying I'm sorry
when I get stopped for speeding
because I drink a glass of water
in the morning
and chain-smoke cigarettes
all through the day
because I take my coffee Black
and my milk with chocolate
because you keep my feet warm
through my life a mess
I love you
because I don't want it
any other way
I am helpless
in m love for you
It makes me so happy
to hear you call my name
I am amazed you can resist
locking me in an echo chamber
where your voice reverberates
through the four walls
sending me into spasmatic ecstasy
I love you
because it's been so good
for so long
that if I didn't love you
I'd have to be born again
and that is not a theological statement
I am pitiful in my love for you
The Dells tell me Love
is so simple
the thought though of you
sends indescribably delicious multitudinous
thrills throughout and through-in my body
I love you
because no two snowflakes are alike
and it is possible if you stand tippy-toe
to walk between the raindrops
I love you
because I am afraid of the dark
and can't sleep in the light
because I rub my eyes
when I wake up in the morning
and find you there
because you with all your magic powers were
determined that
I should love you
because there was nothing for you but that
I would love you
I love you
because you made me
want to love you
more than I love my privacy
my freedom my commitments
and responsibilities
I love you `cause I changed my life
to love you
because you saw me one friday
afternoon and decided that I would
love you
I love you I love you I love you

isn't he pretty?

rain coming.
nothing much going on.
i have a small pink white bud on my rodie
i'm happy about that. don't think the smallest plant tho, is going to have any blossoms.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

A moment of happiness,

you and I sitting on the verandah,

apparently two, but one in soul, you and I.

We feel the flowing water of life here,

you and I, with the garden's beauty

and the birds singing.

The stars will be watching us,

and we will show them

what it is to be a thin crescent moon.

You and I unselfed, will be together,

indifferent to idle speculation, you and I.

The parrots of heaven will be cracking sugar

as we laugh together, you and I.

In one form upon this earth,

and in another form in a timeless sweet land.

If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,

Like this.

When someone mentions the gracefulness
of the nightsky, climb up on the roof
and dance and say,

Like this.

If anyone wants to know what "spirit" is,
or what "God’s fragrance" means,
lean your head toward him or her.
Keep your face there close.

Like this.

When someone quotes the old poetic image
about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,
slowly loosen knot by knot the strings
of your robe.

Like this.

If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,
don’t try to explain the miracle.
Kiss me on the lips.

Like this. Like this.

When someone asks what it means
to "die for love," point

If someone asks how tall I am, frown
and measure with your fingers the space
between the creases on your forehead.

This tall.

The soul sometimes leaves the body, the returns.
When someone doesn’t believe that,
walk back into my house.

Like this.

When lovers moan,
they’re telling our story.

Like this.

I am a sky where spirits live.
Stare into this deepening blue,
while the breeze says a secret.

Like this.

When someone asks what there is to do,
light the candle in his hand.

Like this.

How did Joseph’s scent come to Jacob?


How did Jacob’s sight return?


A little wind cleans the eyes.

Like this.

When Shams comes back from Tabriz,
he’ll put just his head around the edge
of the door to surprise us

Like this.

From ‘The Essential Rumi’, Translations
by Coleman Barks with John Moyne
MARYLAND SCIENCE EXAM...............................

If you need a laugh, then read through these Children's Science Exam


>Q: Name the four seasons.
>A: Salt, pepper, mustard and vinegar.
>Q: Explain one of the processes by which water can be made safe to
> drink.
>A: Flirtation makes water safe to drink because it removes large
> pollutants like grit, sand, dead sheep and canoeists.
> Q: How is dew formed?
>A: The sun shines down on the leaves and makes them perspire.
>Q: How can you delay milk turning sour? (brilliant, love this!)
>A: Keep it in the cow.
>Q: What causes the tides in the oceans?
>A: The tides are a fight between the Earth and the Moon. All water
> tends to flow towards the moon, because there is no water on the
>moon, and
> nature hates a vacuum. I forget where the sun joins in this fight.
>Q: What are steroids?
>A: Things for keeping carpets still on the stairs.
>Q: What happens to your body as you age?
>A: When you get old, so do your bowels and you get intercontinental.
>Q: What happens to a boy when he reaches puberty?
>A: He says good-bye to his boyhood and looks forward to his adultery.
>Q: Name a major disease associated with cigarettes.
>A: Premature death.
>Q: How are the main parts of the body categorized? (e.g., abdomen.)
>A: The body is consisted into three parts - the brainium, the borax
> and the abdominal cavity. The brainium contains the brain; the
>borax contains
> the heart and lungs, an d the abdominal cavity contains the five
> A, E, I, O, and U.
>Q: What is the fibula?
>A: A small lie.
>Q: What does "varicose"mean? (I do love this one...)
>A: Nearby.
>Q: Give the meaning of the term "Caesarean Section."
>A: The Caesarean Section is a district in Rome.
>Q: What does the word " benign" mean?'
>A: Benign is what you will be after you be eight.

i named my car after him!

You Are Me

You are me and I am you.
It is obvious that we are inter-are.
You cultivate the flower in
yourself so that I will be beautiful.
I transform the garbage in myself so
that you do not have to suffer.
I support you you support me.
I am here to bring you peace
you are here to bring me joy.

- Thich Naht Hahn

not all that far from where i live now.

this is a really cool site!
i found this on

i thought that this was a subject that needed some explanation, so
i googled.

i think it's shows that there is and never was ANY reason for the government's foot dragging. unless you think that they really do fly on brooms. ; )

The Wiccan Rede is the rule governing Wiccan behavior. It permits Wiccans to engage in any carefully considered action, as long as it harms nobody, including themselves. The Rede is reinforced by the Threefold Law. This is the belief that any harm or good that a Wiccan does to someone else comes back to hurt or benefit them -- magnified three times over. Both are mentioned in the Wiccan Credo, a poem about Wicca whose origin is unclear.

The Wiccan Credo:
The Wiccan Credo is a Wiccan poem. Some Wiccans believe that it was written circa 1910 CE by Adriana Porter. Others suggest that it was created during the very early years of Gardnerian Witchcraft, during the 1940s and 1950s. 1 It includes the text of the main Wiccan rule of behavior, the Wiccan Rede, and a reference to the Threefold Law.

The third last stanza refers to the Threefold Law. It states, in part:

"Mind the Threefold Law you should,
Three times bad and three times good."

The end of the Credo contains one version of the Wiccan Rede. It reads:

"Eight words the Wiccan Rede fulfill:
An' it harm none,
Do what ye will.
Blessed Be to thee."

The Wiccan Rede and Threefold Law:
"Rede" is derived from an Old English word "roedan" which means to guide or direct. 1 One common version of the Rede is:

"An it harm none, do what thou wilt."

"An" and "wilt" are Old English words for "if" and "want to."

Alternative renderings of the Wiccan Rede are:

An it harm none, do as ye will
Ãn it harm none, do as ye will
An ye harm none, do what ye will.
A'in it harm none, do what thou wilt.
An' it harm none, do what thou wilt.
If it harms none, do what you will.
Eight words the Wiccan Rede fulfill, An' it harm none, do what ye will.
Do what you will as long as it harms none

The Rede states that a Wiccan is free to do what ever they want to, as long as it does not harm themselves or anyone else. Harm is normally considered to include manipulation, domination, attempts to control, physically injure, emotionally harm, or hurt another person or group in any way.

The Threefold Law (a.k.a. the Law of Return) adds a reward for those who follow the Wiccan Rede, and a punishment for those who violate it. The law states that:

"All good that a person does to another returns three fold in this life; harm is also returned three fold."

The Rede and Law obviously prevent a Witch/Wiccan from doing harm to themselves or to others, taking harmful drugs, etc. "This belief constantly reminds us that there are many consequences to our actions and we must consider all possible outcomes before acting. The Wiccan Rede thereby binds Wiccans to do the right thing." 2

Some followers of other religions have attributed many evil activities to Wiccans -- from the laying of curses to conducting love spells; from conducting human sacrifices to performing black magic. These actions are strictly forbidden to all followers of Wicca. In most cases, beliefs in evil magic by Wiccans can be traced back to European religious propaganda during the late Middle Ages and Renaissance in Western Europe which was used to justify witch hunting and burning.

Comparing the Wiccan Rede with behavioral rules of other religions:
The Wiccan Rede is one of many Ethics of Reciprocity which are found in essentially all of the world's religious texts. In Christianity, the Ethic of Reciprocity is sometimes called the Golden Rule. It urges believers to treat other people decently. For example, in Christianity, three of the 50 or so Gospels which circulated in the 1st century CE state:

"Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets." Matthew 7:12, King James Version.
"And as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise." Luke 6:31, King James Version.
"...and don't do what you hate...", Thomas 6.

Those Ethics of Reciprocity which are found in non-Wiccan religions concentrate on one's duties to other people. The Wiccan Rede goes further by also prohibiting a Wiccan from engaging in an action that hurts themselves.

The Pentateuch -- the first five books in the Hebrew Scriptures -- lists 613 behaviors that the ancient Hebrews were expected to either adopt because they are not sinful, or avoid because they are wicked. These laws are referred to as the Mosaic Law. About two dozen of these behaviors are grouped into the Ten Commandments. In contrast to the 613 specific injunctions, the Wiccan Rede consists of only one general rule which is intended to govern all behaviors.

Most religions teach very specific rules of behavior. The Roman Catholic church, for example, sorts them into two categories: mortal and venial sins. In contrast, the Wiccan is not given a list of prohibited and compulsory actions. They forced to consider all of the likely ramifications of each action before deciding whether it meets the standard of the Wiccan Rede. It can only be performed if it is free from harm. Judy Harrow writes: "The Craft, assuming ethical adulthood, offers us no rote rules. We will always be working on incomplete knowledge. We will sometimes just plain make mistakes. Life itself, and life-affirming religion, still demands that we learn, decide, act, and accept the results." 3

Robin Woodsong writes: " 'Do as you will and harm none' is not an easy way to structure morality. We have difficult personal choices to make and hard decisions to follow. It would be much simpler if all aspects of our lives were regulated, and the rules and regulations written down and posted. No more thinking, no hard choices, no more struggling over ethical conflicts." 4 Being a Wiccan can be a difficult religious choice.

History of the Wiccan Rede within Wicca:
John Coughlin researched the writings of Gerald Gardner (1884-1964) and Doreen Valiente (1922-1999). These are the two individuals who are generally regarded as the founders of modern Wicca. He found the first reference to a ethical criteria similar to the Wiccan Rede in Gardner's third book: "The Meaning of Witchcraft." 5 He wrote that Wiccans:

"...are inclined to the morality of the legendary Good King Pausol [sic], 'Do what you like so long as you harm no one.' But they believe a certain law to be important, 'You must not use magic for anything which will cause harm to anyone, and if, to prevent a greater wrong being done, you must discommode someone, you must do it only in a way which will abate the harm'." 6

It appears that King Pausole was a character in a novel by a French writer, Pierre Louys, called "The Adventures of King Pausole," published in 1901.

Coughlin writes that: "The first recorded mention of the Wiccan Rede in the eight-word form popular today, at least that I have been able to discover thus far, was in a speech by Doreen Valiente on October 3, 1964 at what may have been the first witches' dinner organized in modern history. The event was sponsored by 'Pentagram,' a quarterly newsletter and 'witchcraft review' started and published by Gerard Noel in 1964:"

"Demanding tolerance between covens as well as toward the outside world, Doreen spoke the Anglo-Saxon witch formula called the Wiccan Rede or wise teaching: 'Eight words the Wiccan Rede fulfil, An' it harm none, do what ye will'." 7

In reviewing 30,000 pages of documents from Veterans Affairs, Americans United said, it found e-mail and memorandums referring to negative comments President Bush made about Wicca in an interview with “Good Morning America” in 1999, when he was governor of Texas. The interview had to do with a controversy at the time about Wiccan soldiers’ being allowed to worship at Fort Hood, Tex.

“I don’t think witchcraft is a religion,” Mr. Bush said at the time, according to a transcript. “I would hope the military officials would take a second look at the decision they made.”

they can die for us but...

shame on mr. bush
this is important to all of us, no matter your beliefs:

Bush Administration Agrees To Approve Wiccan Pentacle For Veteran Memorials
Monday, April 23, 2007

Settlement In Americans United Lawsuit Comes After Discovery Of A Pattern Of Bias Against Minority Faith

The Bush administration has conceded that Wiccans are entitled to have the pentacle, the symbol of their faith, inscribed on government-issued memorial markers for deceased veterans, Americans United for Separation of Church and State announced today.

The settlement agreement, filed today with the U.S. District Court for the Western District of Wisconsin, brings to a successful conclusion a lawsuit Americans United brought against the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) in November.

The litigation charged that denying a pentacle to deceased Wiccan service personnel, while granting religious symbols to those of other traditions, violated the U.S. Constitution.

“This settlement has forced the Bush Administration into acknowledging that there are no second class religions in America, including among our nation’s veterans,” said the Rev. Barry W. Lynn, Americans United executive director. “It is a proud day for religious freedom in the United States.”

Continued Lynn, “Sadly, the refusal of the federal government to recognize the Wiccan pentacle seems to have been built on inexcusable bias, a foundation that has crumbled under the press of this litigation.”

In the lawsuit, Americans United represented Roberta Stewart, whose husband, Sgt. Patrick Stewart, was killed in combat in Afghanistan in 2005; Karen DePolito, whose husband, Jerome Birnbaum, is a veteran of the Korean War who died last year; Circle Sanctuary, a prominent Wiccan congregation; Jill Medicine Heart Combs, whose husband is severely ill; and the Isis Invicta Military Mission, a Wiccan and Pagan congregation serving military personnel.

The litigation was coordinated by Richard B. Katskee, AU assistant legal director with oversight by Ayesha N. Khan, AU legal director. They were assisted by other attorneys in the office, including Aram Schvey, AU litigation counsel.

Americans United’s attorneys uncovered evidence that the VA’s refusal to recognize the Pentacle was motivated by bias toward the Wiccan faith. President George W. Bush, when he was governor of Texas, had opposed the right of Wiccans to meet at a military base in that state. Bush’s opinion of Wiccans was taken into consideration when making decisions on whether to approve the Pentacle.

“Many people have asked me why the federal government was so stubborn about recognizing the Wiccan symbol,” said AU’s Lynn. “I did not want to believe that bias toward Wiccans was the reason, but that appears to have been the case. That’s discouraging, but I’m pleased we were able to put a stop to it.”

AU’s Khan welcomed the settlement.

“It is rank hypocrisy for this administration to claim publicly that it cares about religious freedom and equality but then to quietly and deliberately discriminate against a minority faith like Wicca,” she said. “Until now, this administration’s view has been that Wiccans are good enough to fight for their country, but not good enough to be acknowledged with a proper headstone.”

Under the terms of the Circle Sanctuary v. Nicholson settlement, the federal government will recognize the right of Wiccans to have the pentacle made available as an emblem of belief for inscription on headstones, grave markers and memorial plaques. The VA will add the symbol to its list of available emblems of belief.

In addition, the VA will make markers bearing the pentacle — an encircled, intertwined five-pointed star — available to the families of Stewart, Birnbaum and others who request them.

AU noted that the VA’s list of 38 approved symbols for government gravestones, markers and plaques includes emblems for Christians, Muslims, Atheists, Hindus, Humanists and members of the Eckankar, Serbian Orthodox and United Moravian faiths.

A Wiccan group first petitioned the VA for approval of the pentacle years ago. Officials at the agency dragged their feet on the request but in the interim approved the symbols of six other religions and belief systems. Among them was a Sikh emblem, which the VA approved in just a few weeks.

Wicca is a nature-based religion grounded in pre-Christian beliefs. Circle Sanctuary says the Wiccan religion honors the Divine as both Mother and Father, encompasses love and respect of Nature, celebrates the cycles of Sun and Moon, and encourages adherents to live in harmony with other humans and the greater Circle of Life.

Americans United is a religious liberty watchdog group based in Washington, D.C. Founded in 1947, the organization educates Americans about the importance of church-state separation in safeguarding religious freedom.
© Americans
it's been 10 years, TEN YEARS.

freedom of religion!

A settlement between the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs and Wiccans adds the five-pointed star to the list of "emblems of belief" allowed on VA grave markers.

Eleven families nationwide are waiting for grave markers with the pentacle, said Selena Fox, a Wiccan high priestess with Circle Sanctuary in Barneveld, Wis., a plaintiff in the lawsuit.

The settlement calls for the pentacle, whose five points represent earth, air, fire, water and spirit, to be placed on grave markers within 14 days for those who have pending requests with the VA.

"I am glad this has ended in success in time to get markers for Memorial Day," Fox said.

The VA sought the settlement in the interest of the families involved and to save taxpayers the expense of further litigation, VA spokesman Matt Burns said. The agency also agreed to pay $225,000 in attorneys' fees and costs.

The pentacle has been added to 38 symbols the VA already permits on gravestones. They include commonly recognized symbols for Christianity, Buddhism, Islam and Judaism, as well as those for smaller religions such as Sufism Reoriented, Eckiankar and the Japanese faith Seicho-No-Ie.

"This settlement has forced the Bush Administration into acknowledging that there are no second class religions in America, including among our nation's veterans," said the Rev. Barry W. Lynn, director of Americans United for Separation of Church and State, which represented the Wiccans in the lawsuit.

The American Civil Liberties Union said the agreement also settles a similar lawsuit it filed last year against the VA. In that case, the ACLU represented two other Wiccan churches and three individuals.

VA-issued headstones, markers and plaques can be used in any cemetery, whether it is a national one such as Arlington or a private burial ground like that on Circle Sanctuary's property.

Wicca is a nature-based religion based on respect for the earth, nature and the cycle of the seasons. Variations of the pentacle not accepted by Wiccans have been used in horror movies as a sign of the devil.

Copyright 2007 The Associated Press. The information contained in the AP news report may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or otherwise distributed without the prior written authority of The Associated Press.

Monday, April 23, 2007

love love LOVE IT!

kicks ass!

I didn’t get much sleep last night
thinking about underwear
Have you ever stopped to consider
underwear in the abstract
When you really dig into it
some shocking problems are raised
Underwear is something we all have to deal with
Everyone wears
some kind of underwear
Even Indians wear underwear
Even Cubans
wear underwear
The Pope wears underwear I hope
The Governor of Louisiana wears underwear
I saw him on TV
He must have had tight underwear
He squirmed a lot
Underwear can really get you in a bind
You have seen the underwear ads for men and women
so alike but so different
Women’s underwear holds things up
Men’s underwear holds things down
Underwear is one thing
men and women do have in common
Underwear is all we have between us
You have seen the three-color pictures
with crotches encircled
to show the areas of extra strength
with three-way stretch
promising full freedom of action
Don’t be deceived
It’s all based on the two-party system
which doesn’t allow much freedom of choice
the way things are set up
America in its Underwear
struggles thru the night
Underwear controls everything in the end
Take foundation garments for instance
They are really fascist forms
of underground government
making people believe
something but the truth
telling you what you can of can’t do
Did you ever try to get around a girdle
Perhaps Non-Violent Action
is the only answer
Did Gandhi wear a girdle?
Did Lady Macbeth wear a girdle?
Was that why Macbeth murdered sleep?

And the spot she was always rubbing -
Was it really her underwear?
Modern anglosaxon ladies
must have huge guilt complexes
always washing and washing and washing
Out damned spot
Underwear with spots very suspicious
Underwear with bulges very shocking
Underwear on clothesline a great flag of freedom
Someone has escaped his Underwear
May be naked somewhere
But don’t worry
Everybody’s still hung up in it
There won’t be no real revolution
And poetry still the underwear of the soul
And underwear still covering
a multitude of faults

in the geological sense -
strange sedimentary stones, inscrutable cracks!
If I were you I’d keep aside
an oversize pair of winter underwear
Do not go naked into that good night
And in the meantime
keep calm and warm and dry
No use stirring ourselves up prematurely
‘over Nothing’
Move forward with dignity
hand in vest
Don’t get emotional
And death shall have no dominion
There’s plenty of time my darling
Are we not still young and easy?
Don’t shout.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

got this site at blue gal's(of course)

they have t-shirts too!

this is jim's page on the poetry kit site.

i really think, since it's national poetry month
that you would enjoy checking it out.

Sunday, April 22, 2007

watched 2 episodes of "planet earth"
forests and caves.
just fantastic!

now it's nighty night.


quaker dave has a most beautiful poem up from
margaret atwood.

just wonderful.
we did pretty good at the fundraiser last night, even tho it was the
first really beautiful spring evening we have had and so many
were busy with outside activities and didn't show.

i'm happy we cleared enough for another scholarship.
thanks to everyone that helped make that possible.


Saturday, April 21, 2007

from 02

abracadabra, a poem

sits, like a toad, blinking
silent, on the back of my tongue
nubby warts hidden from the light.

a poem, afraid
of what it might say, knowing
the old words

" abraq ad habra"
"i will create as i speak."

and so, it choose
silence and
status quo.
still poetry month...

another oldie of mine.


i would feed upon you,
live on your glances, satisfied by

your scent , your intentions
i would feed on these

between breaths
tastes caught on the tongue
singing you

with my skin
damp alive

ragged music

dance you

rock you slow
hungry again.

i looked this up here after i posted about the french bakery in millvale, hummmm
food, sex, desserts, sex...

and no, i do think of lots of other subjects, but few as fun as, well! ; )

this place is just THE best!
i'm not kidding. i'm a chocolate freak but his
breton cake makes me go crazy and every time
i've brought one to share with others they can't say enough about
how amazing it is. a tiny sliver will do you in!

this is an authentic french pastry shop.
if you are ever in pittsburgh, it's in a little town right outside of the city.
go, see, eat!

Breton Cake
(Gâteau Bretons) A seven-inch round shortbread from Brittany made with flour, butter, egg yolk, and sugar. If you like shortbread, you will love Breton cake. A bestseller. Sold whole. Samples available in the bakery.
What Classic Actress Are You?

Audrey Hepburn. "My Fair Lady", "Breakfast at Tiffany's", "Roman Holiday"...Need I say more.

Modest, Sweet, Attentive, Generous, Cosmopolitan

You are a little self-conscious and sometimes can't see why people think you are special. Going through hard times in your life, you never look back and never take things for granted. You are a survivor and you now see to it that others less fortunate can survive as well. With a heart filled with genuine kindness, you can really make a difference. Never doubt yourself for you are a force to be reckoned with; smart, compassionate, and talented to boot.

got this at blue gal's.

she and i seem to be a lot alike. : )

i love this f'ing song. the drums just do me in!

happy saturday kids!
Let America Be America Again
by Langston Hughes

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek--
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean--
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home--
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."

The free?

Who said the free? Not me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay--
Except the dream that's almost dead today.

O, let America be America again--
The land that never has been yet--
And yet must be--the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME--
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath--
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain--
All, all the stretch of these great green states--
And make America again!

Friday, April 20, 2007

there is a mourning dove cooing outside my opened window.
i love this weather!

i want to announce the arrival of
lilly hannah

welcome little one.
she joins her big brother jack.

some of you may remember the poem about noah.

lily was born after little noah sailed on into heaven.

i have not seen her as yet, but i'm hoping to soon.
hi boog!
beautiful day.
tomorrow night is our big fund raiser for
the scholarship fund. we have 2 fundraisers a year, fall and spring.
cross your fingers that we do well, o.k?

i'm a fretter from way back! ; )

every now and then, bob decides to nap in the cat carrier.
go figure!
Are You Drinking?

washed-up, on shore, the old yellow notebook
out again
I write from the bed
as I did last
will see the doctor,
"yes, doctor, weak legs, vertigo, head-
aches and my back
"are you drinking?" he will ask.
"are you getting your
exercise, your
I think that I am just ill
with life, the same stale yet
even at the track
I watch the horses run by
and it seems
I leave early after buying tickets on the
remaining races.
"taking off?" asks the motel
"yes, it's boring,"
I tell him.
"If you think it's boring
out there," he tells me, "you oughta be
back here."
so here I am
propped up against my pillows
just an old guy
just an old writer
with a yellow
something is
walking across the
oh, it's just
my cat

Charles Bukowski
Knock Knock!

Who's there?

Sacha !

Sacha who ?

Sacha fuss, just because I knocked on your door !

Thursday, April 19, 2007

i'm roasting a turkey today.

no, not one of the ones that strut around here raiding the bird feeders
but a big ole plastic wrapped butterball,a nameless, faceless(duh)
one i can make myself believe came that way from the butterball tree.

i'm not a hypocrite, just really good at denial. ; )

anyway, it's nice to roast a turkey for something other than a holiday when i am too damn stressed to enjoy cooking it or eating it.

yeah, another rambling whatsis from me.
"The most important thing in communication is to hear what isn't being said."
--Peter F. Drucker
by Carl Sandburg

Maybe he believes me, maybe not.
Maybe I can marry him, maybe not.

Maybe the wind on the prairie,
The wind on the sea, maybe,
Somebody, somewhere, maybe can tell.

I will lay my head on his shoulder
And when he asks me I will say yes,

i just found this. i'd never read it before.
it is so short and yet has such depth.
i liked it.
warmer today. maybe spring is springing?

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

this is from a new friend.
he is kind and shares great wisdoms. i can not thank him enough.

it is for Liviu Librescu who was laid to rest today.

The Minstrel Boy said...

this is a small part of the way of the warrior. it is said to have been sung by geronimo as he buried his battle dead.

Ah biza yeh
Shichil adahi yago nini ya nini ya nini ya
(I fly upon the air
toward the sky, far, far, far)

Ts-ago degi na leya
Ah yu wii yeh
(There I find a holy place
Now the change comes over me)

Khit ts-a neet ihih khyaa
yeendaa ji-chan neenahaallii-ya
(I will always love you,
I will see you again)

Shanandaii shii chan ni neh haldiii
(Remember me, I will always remember you)

(english works too)

going back to my high school days here.

love this!

Excerpt from Ten Thousand Flower-Flames, Part 3
by Sri Chinmoy.

Yesterday I discovered kindness in myself. Today I see how beautiful and soulful I am.

Yesterday I discovered kindness in humanity. Today I see how meaningful and fruitful humanity is.

The awakened mind
May show kindness
To those who not only do not deserve it
But also misuse it-alas!

My Lord tells me
That my mind's cleverness-smile
Will never be a match
For my heart's kindness-smile.

You can show your sweetest kindness
Even to those
Who are vehemently standing
In your way.
But under no circumstances
Must you surrender to their way.

Follow not
Your blindness-mind;
Follow only
Your kindness-heart!


just cause i need a little lift!
so grey out. matches my mood i suppose.

this was passed on to me by blue gal
i think it's worth a read and more than just a thought,
don't you?

Wouldn't you like to live in a country where fatal
shootings were so rare, so horrid, so noteworthy, that
they make the national news?

Here's the thing - it really is possible.

I remember all too well the day of the Dunblane
massacre, 13th March 1996, because I was visiting
clients in the small Scottish town at the time. A
lunatic with a grudge walked into a school with two
Browning handguns and killed sixteen children aged 5
and 6, along with their teacher. It was a turning
point for the British people, who decided enough was

A group of parents and friends of the bereaved began a
petition to have all handguns banned. It was called
the Snowdrop Campaign, after the only flower in bloom
in Scotland in March. Within 6 weeks, it had collected
705,000 signatures - and a rival petition by the
pro-gun lobby collected a tenth of that number in a
longer period. The result was stunning. Gun control
became a major campaign issue. Just 29 per cent of
Conservative candidates favoured a total ban on
handguns, compared with 97 per cent of would-be Labour
MPs, and 86 per cent of Liberal Democrats. The
Conservatives, in government for more than a decade,
were resoundingly defeated at the general election and
the new Labour government made legislation which
banned private ownership of handguns a priority of its
first months in office.

According to a report from the Home Office, from
mid-2005 to mid-2006, only 49 people were killed by
handguns (Homicides, Firearm Offences and Intimate
Violence 2005/2006, page 36). This is a rate of
roughly 1 per million compared to 55 per million in
the US (FBI 2004 Crime report). It turns out that a
mandatory five-year jail term for carrying a hand gun
does have an effect. Of course there have been some
terrible shootings impacting the black community
recently, tied in with gang and drug culture it seems.
But the growth of such incidences is still lower and
they can can be handled in the context of a wider
culture against guns.

If guns are illegal, only criminals with the right
kind of contacts will be able to get guns. You can't
then just drive up to a gun show and buy a gun, no
questions asked. That limits the field considerably.
It excludes, for instance, high school and college
kids. It excludes those who suddenly just flip-out or
have a moment of blind rage in a domestic dispute. It
excludes many dime-store robbers and other petty or
opportunistic criminals. It makes things easier for
police too, who don't have to approach every single
situation as if it might be a shoot-out and can
allocate resources to catching the criminals who do
have the right kind of contacts to get guns, and their
dealers. But it cannot be piecemeal, it must be a
national ban done at a federal level.

If there's anyone out there with the gumption and the
resources to organise a version of the Snowdrop
Campaign in the US, they will have my backing.

Regards, Steve

Cernig - Steve Hynd - Senior Partner, Newshoggers Blog

How stern are the woes of the desolate mourner
As he bends in still grief o'er the hallowed bier,
As enanguished he turns from the laugh of the scorner,
And drops to perfection's remembrance a tear;
When floods of despair down his pale cheeks are streaming,
When no blissful hope on his bosom is beaming,
Or, if lulled for a while, soon he starts from his dreaming,
And finds torn the soft ties to affection so dear.
Ah, when shall day dawn on the night of the grave,
Or summer succeed to the winter of death?
Rest awhle, hapless victim! and Heaven will save
The spirit that hath faded away with the breath.
Eternity points, in its amaranth bower
Where no clouds of fate o'er the sweet prospect lour,
Unspeakable pleasure, of goodness the dower,
When woe fades away like the mist of the heath.

Percy Bysshe Shelley