Tuesday, November 24, 2015
Oh, how this poem shimmers & shines!!! I found it in an anthology while going through my zillions of books to pass along to my younger daughter and granddaughter. (Last year, my college student grandson asked for some of my American Classics. I rounded him up 90 or so!) Sarah likes poetry, April, not so much, so I've reluctantly been parting with some of my favorite books. Sarah loves Mary Oliver---she heard Mary Oliver speak when she was in college, so I picked those first and kept only one for myself. I cried as I boxed up about 75 books. So many wonderful memories attached to those reads!! My books are like a journal or road map of my life...
Pet peeve: This is why I HATE electronic books (beside the fact that they've become exorbitantly expensive...only a dollar or two less than a 'real' book), you can't pass them down to your family or friends. They're a total ripoff. Okay, hopping down off my soap box. :-P
Wishing you all a Happy Thanksgiving filled with love, family and friends. xo, Marion
Sunday, November 15, 2015
I read a brief description of this series on Fliver and was instantly intrigued. It is a woman's soul split wide open; an epiphany; a 1,600 page praise prayer to life; a spirit-reviving miracle. And more. It is what books are meant to be... It's why ink and paper were invented. Yes, these books are that good, and better.
So I ordered only the first book in the series to see if it lived up to my high expectations...BIG MISTAKE! I read it in one day and immediately got the last three books. I've never read a series quite like this. At the heart of the story is a lifelong friendship between two brilliant girls who grew up in a poor Italian neighborhood...(horrid oversimplification!) The author is a uniquely gifted storyteller and nothing I can say can adequately describe the beauty, depth, horror, insight and joy contained in this story...All four books are one continuous story that you never want to end.
So, if you're looking for something riveting, luscious, and magnificent to read to finish up your reading year, definitely read these amazing books. You can thank me later. ;-) xo, Marion
Friday, November 13, 2015
BY EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY
O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!
Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!
Thy mists, that roll and rise!
Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag
And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag
To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!
World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!
Long have I known a glory in it all,
But never knew I this;
Here such a passion is
As stretcheth me apart,—Lord, I do fear
Thou’st made the world too beautiful this year;
My soul is all but out of me,—let fall
No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
By Tom Healy
What do we do when we hate our bodies?
A good coat helps.
Some know how to pull off a hat.
And there are paints, lighting, knives, needles,
various kinds of resignation,
the laugh in the mirror, the lie
of saying it doesn’t matter.
There is also the company we keep:
surgeons and dermatologists,
faith healers and instruction-givers,
tailors of cashmere and skin
who send their bills for holding
our shame-red hands, raw
from the slipping rope,
the same hands with which we tremble
ever so slightly, holding novels in bed,
concentrating on the organization
of pain and joy
we say is another mirror,
a depth, a conjure in which we might meet
someone who says touch me.
~~~from What the Right Hand Knows. Copyright © 2009
I avoid mirrors. I haven't recognized the woman in my mirrors for a long time now. Pain makes you ugly, depressed, sad and sick. People hate sickly people. They run screaming if, when they politely say, "How are you?", and you answer truthfully, "I feel like shit, everything hurts and I haven't slept all night for many years now...How are you?" They trip over their feet to get the hell away from you. Few people have sincere empathy, which is to truly imagine yourself in the other person's place.
I'm grateful for the people in my life who've shown me empathy in spite of wanting to run. You know who you are. Bless you all & have a Thanksgiving filled with love, empathy and gratitude. xo, Marion
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
The Louisiana State Fair was the best part of every year when I was growing up. We saved our hard-earned spending money (Quarters from selling Coke bottles, picking pecans, shelling peas and raking or hoeing the garden, picking peas, tomatoes, peppers, squash, cucumbers, etc.)
It was a real sacrifice to have to go a month to six weeks without our candy/comic/RC Cola and Moon Pie fix, but we knew magic was at the end of our great sacrifice: Like candy apples & caramel apples, blue & pink cotton candy, andouille sausages cooked with onions & bell peppers, cradled in a soft, steamed bun...and that's just the food!!! We tried our hands at coin toss and breaking balloons with darts, while the little kids picked up rubber ducks for a prize.
We carefully chose as many rides as we could afford on our little budgets. Then there were the free areas: the stock barn where all the animals were judged and ribbons given out. Next was where the jams, pickles and preserves were judged and sold. It was as pretty as a rainbow...all those Mason Jars full of colorful figs, strawberry jam, apple jelly, blueberry jam, pears. I don't know how we'd have kept going if it hadn't been for the huge quantities of sugar we consumed. We often barfed up our treats after the roller coaster ride, but we kept right on going till the fair closed at 10:00 p.m.
Uncle Warner carried us into the house because we fell asleep from pure exhaustion and excitement on the 30 minute drive home. We'd be sticky from head to toe and Aunt Mace would wash our faces, hands and feet with a warm wash cloth and put us to bed. It seems like day before yesterday, but it was over 50 years ago. That blows my mind. Time, she flies... Nostalgically yours... ~Marion xo
Saturday, October 31, 2015
Flooding, tornado warnings, thunderstorms, rain, flash floods, wind...Autumn is still being birthed painfully and messily this last day of October. It's been summer-like here in the swamps...my tomatoes & peppers are still making although my Moonflowers have gone to seed. My back bedroom is flooded, but that's minor compared to the damage in Texas from tornadoes and flooding.
Found a cool read this week and it's free. Also check the author's web site: johnnybtruant.com
Check it out: http://www.amazon.com/Universe-Doesnt-Give-Flying-About-ebook/dp/B005OMBTKY
By Sheryl Crow
You can hear it
There is weather on both sides
And I know it's coming
Just like before
There's a black dog
That scratches my door
He's been growling my name saying
You better get to running
Can you make it better for me
Can you make me see the light of day
Because I got no one
Who will bring me a
So I'm watching the weather channel
And waiting for the storm
It's just sugar
Just a pill to make me happy
I know it may not fix the hinges
But at least the door has stopped it's creaking
I got friends
They're waiting for me to comb out my hair
Come outside and join the human race
But I don't feel so human
Can you make it better for me
Can you make me see the light of day
Because I got lab coats
Who will bring me a panacea
While I'm watching the weather channel
Waiting for the storm
You won't want me
Hanging around the birthday pony
Even though it's just a game
You know we are the same
But you're the better faker
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
For Magpie Tales #291
Now I lay me
down to pray;
I clasp my hands
in bright moon rays.
I close my eyes
as if in sleep,
draw in a breath, then
into the arms of
of God above
and quickly rest
inside His love.
I lie here like a
small child curled,
His trusting word
of faith & peace
known simply by
those many souls
that to Him cry...
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
One of the most FUN, informative, fascinating, free apps I have on my IPad is the Fliverapp. It's a collection of lists about everything from books to poetry, restaurants, food, fashion, recipes, advice...you name it. The sky's the limit...or not. The lists are in multiples of 5 with space to add a link with a little comment section at the end. It's simple and easy to use and therein lies the beauty.
I went a little crazy when I first discovered it and became a top 5 list maker...and the cool CEO & Founder, Faraaz Ahmed, sent me a little gift: Fliverapp socks!! As I told him in a thank you email, "I love the app and enjoy it even more than Pinterest. Nobody at Pinterest ever sent me cute socks... They've just stolen years from my life that I'll never get back."
I highly recommend that you all try Fliverapp, even if it's just to read all of the cool lists on your IPhone.
I'd keep reading it even if they never sent me cozy socks! xo
Friday, October 23, 2015
Beautiful Chaos By Robert M. Drake
Black Butterfly By Robert M. Drake
Robert M. Drake began posting his simple, beautiful poetry on Instagram (@rmdrk) and has developed a huge following. His fifth book, "A Brilliant Madness" is just out. His poetry is pure soul and emotion...and highly addictive reading. I have one of his books and can't wait to read his newest volume.
It's hot, dry, cloudy and muggy here in the swamps with rain predicted for the next few days as an after effect of Hurricane Patricia. Everyone in the hurricane's path, please stay safe.
Support poets...buy poetry!!!!
"Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance." ~Carl Sandburg
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
By Mary Oliver
Understand, I am always trying to figure out
what the soul is,
and where hidden,
and what shape
and so, last week,
when I found on the beach
the ear bone
of a pilot whale that may have died
hundreds of years ago, I thought
maybe I was close
to discovering something
for the ear bone
is the portion that lasts longest
in any of us, man or whale; shaped
like a squat spoon
with a pink scoop where
once, in the lively swimmer's head,
it joined its two sisters
in the house of hearing,
it was only
two inches long
and thought: the soul
might be like this
so hard, so necessary
yet almost nothing.
the gray sea
was opening and shutting its wave-doors,
unfolding over and over
its time-ridiculing roar;
I looked but I couldn't see anything
through its dark-knit glare;
yet don't we all know, the golden sand
is there at the bottom,
though our eyes have never seen it,
nor can our hands ever catch it
lest we would sift it down
into fractions, and facts
and what the soul is, also
I believe I will never quite know.
Though I play at the edges of knowing,
truly I know
our part is not knowing,
but looking, and touching, and loving,
which is the way I walked on,
through the pale-pink morning light.