Tuesday, September 20, 2016

Hypothetically Speaking

This is dedicated to a few people who've been kind yet persistent about showing me What Matters. In life. In these skin schools. Still, nothing in this post reflects that collective wisdom because, well, I am not claiming to be absorbent, merely that I notice. I have not actually met a couple of these inspiring people. In that way, they're heroes without trying. One or two might be surprised that they're seek as such.

A couple of them are real life friends who also happen to be both heroic and humble. They didn't set out to be any such thing. They definitely carve out their own paths. I'm unaware of anyone who's gone before them in their particular arenas of existence, but they seem to be guided nonetheless: Mysteries accompany heroism, if not outright confusion.

But that's another bad poem altogether.

Hypothetically Speaking

If you've had love and gasp

at the space where it used to be,

You are still inhabited by it.

Or was it the thrown-away kind,

lost on some highway

in a reckless, lightning fast purge?

Did your love steal away

into someone else's night,

only to taunt from whispering corridors?

The graveyards of the one-sided kind

scatter the world; lost mounds

of betrayal keeping sorrows alive.

Perhaps you had the close to the top,

of the mountain kind: identifiable only

by numbers like some star system.

There is binary love: stacked, shiny

face cards, all hands on decks:

shuffled, cut, dealt predictably.

Warm realms of kept vows

coalesce into myth then oxygen masks drop

down, one less of them than of us...

What then? Who turns blue as the pilot

yields to either a miracle or the stone grip

of broken steel: yanked musical chairs?

Do you keep it close like a pillow,

between you and the hard places

in life; through the constant moving, the

Switching rooms, wheels, keys and

torn paper keeping your place in books

you don't remember beginning,

Ones you can't imagine not finishing?

You could cheat. And ask. How it

all turns out after all... except you know.

There is no new thing under the sun.

That's why prayers of forgetting

thrum in the night air, breaking only

When the hope of a new love is born:

still, sirens sound warnings. We've got a jumper.

And it's such a very long way to fall.

Monday, September 19, 2016

Have a beautiful Monday night everyone.

Hard to fret about anything looking at this. And yet...I am a dubious master of fretting amid great beauty and gratitude. It's just a gift.

Mine eyes, in case you didn't see my correction about The Bug at the door, are fixed a bit.

The previous post was a praying mantis that I called a grasshopper. And to think I'm not a real blonde.

Anyway, I also turned the photo from upside down to right side up. Before I knew. Now that I realize what he WAS... Gosh, the little guy was in praying position.

I could take bigger hints but the stick used to hit me would be so huge that it would take quite a few folks to carry it.

Have a beautiful Monday night everyone.


This big little guy

This big little guy was right at the front door during the full moon a few nights ago. The pups and I were headed for a walk and he was right next to the doorbell.

Wonder if we'd waited a few more minutes if he might've... Naaah.

But in the totemic way of beesties, this particular critter is a harbinger of fine things.

After seeing more crickets than we can count - ones too fast to photograph - the green machine was a nice surprise.

What/who is about to ring your doorbell in the cool nights of autumn?


Saturday, September 17, 2016

Belated comedy is better than no comedy at all.


#pupwehardlyknewye

Tom Q sent this to me today at a particularly low faithless moment when I read some fak really nasty violent themes on 'friends' FB pages.

I think I know why people de-cline, de-activate. De-ny.

I'm not silly enough to only be friends with people who agree with my politics: This is actually on both sides of the spectrum.

Think I'm choosing respect. That might narrow things down.

And that doesn't mean being nice to someone's face and belonging to groups who proclaim hideous, profane things about others - oh and leave candidates families out of it.

Unless they're grown men who hunt tigers. Then, I think scathing satire is maximum punishment.

(Wondering how many will get that last bit is ironic. Actually, irony just doubled over on itself which might cancel itself out. Crap. I hate when that happens.)

And when the one of the old dogs you were to transport died the night before he went to his forever family.

Little heartbreak there.


Thank you for sending this. We needed it.

Our good friend Tom Quigley has done it again... Thank you for sending this. We needed it.

Presenting the harvest moon from Rochester, NY.

And for everyone missing Ginny and Johnny tonight - as am I - may this beautiful moon's light wrap us all up in its faraway arms, until we meet again in that sweet by and by.

Because we know that words are cold comfort in the corners of the missing places.


Jennifer Elizabeth Green-Johnson

This person's name is Jennifer Elizabeth Green-Johnson. She's a schoolteacher in Canada.

In our humble and, granted, partially informed opinion, she's missed her calling.

We believe that the Republican candidate for the American presidency could use her in his coterie of public relations advisors. Because they need to be more over the top.

Be warned: If you're easily offended/revolted, perhaps Google something else. We certainly wish we did. And that's saying something.


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