If I Were a Penguin…

Published August 18, 2017 by Nan Mykel

If I were a penguin–

my life, a carpet rolled

out for me to follow

from beginning to end–

I would want to rebel.

What is the use of us,

I’d ask, Why are we here?

No free will for penguins?

I’d want to rebel if

fate and instinct were one

and the same. But if I

really were a penguin,

then I could never know.

HEARTILY RECOMMENDED

Published August 16, 2017 by Nan Mykel

Eighteen years ago, when I was psychology supervisor in a state prison, I led a journal writing group. The book we used was George F. Simons’ Keeping Your Personal Journal, Ballantine 1978. I lent it to a friend without my name written in the flyleaf, and haven’t seen it again and of course don’t recall who I lent it to.

But I do know I haven’t come across another book on journal keeping with so much hard-core encouraging information. First I got an “out of stock” response from Amazon but kept on persevering and it arrived today and I’m seriously starting anew. I know this will be my final journal, and all the imperfections and embarrassments will still be with me, but hopefully some good insights and attempts at self-forgiveness will materialize. Except for rare entries, mine will have to be “typewritten” and pasted, due to my deteriorated handwriting. A hardbound journal does better than I do at maintaining sequencing!

LET YOUR IMAGINATION ROLL…

Published August 14, 2017 by Nan Mykel

WHAT COULD HE BE SAYING?

I’VE WONDERED EVER SINCE I SAW THIS

Pity the Poor Poet….

Published August 9, 2017 by Nan Mykel

Who searches and listens

with open heart and a healthy

Muse, awaiting the bursting

forth of a metaphor reflecting

that in life which is soulful,

gentle, appreciative of both

nature and humanity,

loving appreciations for

justice, honesty and the milk

of human kindness, but

which arrives full blown as

a plateful of poop, accompanied

by the words “I am your mouth!.”

nan

“Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night” Re-blog

Published August 5, 2017 by Nan Mykel

Gives grief life!

Lucky Otters Haven

dylan
Dylan Thomas (1914 – 1953) wrote one of the most powerful and moving poems of all time, and this one has always been my favorite.

It’s been said to be about old age, but in these dark times, it has another meaning to me.

I never considered myself a patriot before, but now that my country seems to be broken beyond repair, I’m realizing I do in fact have a deep patriotic streak and am willing to fight for its survival. This poem brings out that part of me and has the power to move me to tears.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they

View original post 171 more words

You Are Not Your Scars (Re-blog)

Published August 5, 2017 by Nan Mykel

Taking this to heart:

The One in Four

“Youhavescarsonyourarm.” People sometimes approach me, whilst staring at my limb. My first and foremost reaction is to look down at my arm in fake surprise and panic, pretending I hadn’t previously realised the marks. Thank you Captain Obvious for your insightful input.

Sarcasm aside, I am more than happy to explain the cause of the raised streaks: when I can tell that a person is genuinely intrigued-and not intending to belittle me. I am comfortable with admitting that I did this to myself at low points in my life. That’s what happened. Why should I be ashamed of that?

I do not blame those who stare, or those who sneak a peek when they don’t realise that I can still see them out of the corner of my eye. It’s different. It’s human nature to feel that desire to take a second glance at the…

View original post 263 more words

This is Why Women May Not Thank You For Catcalling (Reblog)

Published August 5, 2017 by Nan Mykel

She says it like it is:

The One in Four

It’s just a casual stroll down the street. That’s all it is.

Nothing more, nothing less.

A simple quest to buy milk, or to collect bed linen from the Laundrette’s, with no underlying intentions whatsoever. Walking along the roadside, you lean down to tie up your shoelaces, to adjust the buckle on your knee-high boots.
“Hey, Blondie. Nice tits.” The young men outside the bakery yell after you. “I would.” They turn to their mates and snigger.
They turn to their mates and tell them they want to fuck you.

You would think-or at least, hope-that in this day and age, after years of campaigning and crying outside of parliament, that we wouldn’t be having this conversation. But in a world that has appointed a self-confessed pussy-grabbing maniac as it’s head of state, I can-categorically- announce that we are: and that, as much as it breaks my soul to admit…

View original post 703 more words