(Re Wallflowers)
We’ve come to the conclusion that if we’re single at 40, we’ll marry each other-I mean, there’s no sexual attraction, but I dont see why we couldn’t be an asexual/watching countryfile together kind of partnership. She’s my safety wife, and, in all honesty, she’d probably last longer than a cat. There’d be no vet bills either, and I’d like to think she’d pay her way.
A DAILY JOURNAL? Isn’t that passe or something for this crowd? Well I began it tonight (10/29/16), and I’ll only post it on my new Daily Journal page, so it won’t interfere with snappy things. Right now I’m using it as I discard files forever, and want to grab a piece or two first.
I had heard two of these lines at certain times but did not note which of Yeats’ poems they came from. I just found it on Google and want to share it. Can you guess the two lines referred to?
| The Song of Wandering Aengus
I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire aflame, But something rustled on the floor, And some one called me by my name: It had become a glimmering girl With apple blossom in her hair Who called me by my name and ran And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
William Butler Yeats |
They were “But something rustled on the floor
and someone called my name.”
Once I heard them in 1991 at a David White conference. Who’s Aengus? He’s a god of love and beauty in Celtic mythology. From many sites on Google under the title.
Goodbye so soon, since I believe I’m going to join the November NaNoWriMo (sp?), with a goal of writing 50,000 words during the Thanksgiving month. At least I’ll have a good excuse for not roasting turkey.
WHO DID HE BELONG TO?
He was curled up to himself like a babe,
the remains we found around the bend
beside the brook, as we perambulated
without a care until this old fellow
came into view. Poor, by his looks, and
quite dead and cold. Who did he belong to,
who had his heart?
JIGSAW PUZZLE
It’s difficult to work a jigsaw puzzle
without the big picture, and we don’t
get to see that until the end.
FAMILY COAT TREE
Heavy,
it sits there with its three sets
of horns and a mirror, over
the hinged seat for galoshes,
upon four curved legs, its
century-old veneer now
peeling.
When I think of the dear faces
it has reflected I grow restive.
Are traces of grandma not
in there behind the glass, nor Larry
who died as a child?
Did it not absorb anything it
reflected, not even grandmama who
never had to brush her own hair,
nor the slave who did?
OLD FUN
Canes are such fun to use!
You can hobble so much faster,
even use them for swatting,
while my old heart fibrillates
at your touch.
(I reckon you know I’m pulling
your good leg. Did you guess?)
IT’S TRUE
If my calico cat is a male,
he’s transgender.
Did you know?
THOUGHTS WHILE TRYING TO SLEEP
Are there really any flat earth people left?
How about Holocaust deniers?
Or UFO deniers?
If Free Will exists, as I’m told,
I will my verse to unfold.
Right here and now I direct,
and I WILL that it be perfect.
  |
10 / 27 / 2016 |
 |
[Or AFTER it, if it goes against Trump.] I don’t think anyone is verbalizing it, but if he wanted to ride into the white house on the wave of a revolution, he seems to have scripted it. In the white house with his own tv network? Saints preserve us. |
He knew he was crotchety.
He’d forgotten how to love.
His cane held him upright and
allowed him to kick at stones
along the winding path home.
He wanted for nothing but
stones to kick and maybe a
bone to pick once he arrived.
Being crotchety was safe.
He knew it and they knew it,
and at night after supper
he could be found down
in his old soldier’s fox hole.
I cannot figure out the directions on Word Press to changing my credit card number so I’ll be waiting for my assistant to return and go through the maze for me,
Nan
Open Link Night?
What a fright!
What view of the world
Shall now be unfurledl?
Leaves going brown
all over town? But no
romp in the soup
nor poop in the sloop.
(Word salad is a symptom,
did you know?)
It’s a chance to SHOW
what we think best
but this won’t suffice
’cause I can’t entice
the words to flow right.
Tonight.
Sorry isn’t half
of it.
I don’t blame Blenza
for saying my URL
MUST begin with
that’s fine.
Come see what I share
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