Saturday, May 29, 2010

Technical Difficulties :-(

:-(    I've been off line for a while due to computer problems at home.  I hope to be back online soon.  I really miss reading my daily blogs!!!

We're at the library today buying books.  :-)  Got some really great ones!

I hope you all have a safe and happy Memorial Day Weekend!

Love & Blessings to Everyone,



Saturday, May 22, 2010

Moth & Dragonfly by Marion

Moth and Dragonfly Photos by Me from May, 2009

A composition book I collaged last week for writing my poems in.

Moth and Dragonfly
By Marion

Night, she awoke me
whispering in my ear
wake up, wake up, dragonfly.
Danger is near.

I’m glad we
weren’t born sparrows
because sparrows can be caged;
I’m glad we weren’t born mortals
because mortals bleed and age.

I flew up from my slumber,
the silence unlike other nights
and found his wings there beating
against love’s too bright light.

I’m glad we
weren’t born sparrows
because sparrows can be caged;
I’m glad we aren’t mere mortals
because mortals bleed and age.

I soared to him and told him
light would burn his delicate wings
if he didn’t move back from it,
he would soon die from its sting.

And I’m glad we
weren’t born sparrows
because sparrows can be caged;
I’m glad we’re moth and dragonfly
and don’t know love’s light fades.

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This is a poem I wrote last summer.  I have several in progress, but am having a case of scatter-brained going on mixed with procrastination.  Can't seem to finish anything.  Maybe next week...

I hope you all are having a wonderful weekend.  It's hot, humid and sunny here with some amazing clouds about.  I did a little cloud-watching this morning until the heat brought me back into the cool house.  I was watering my Willows and gardens and also dragonfly-watching.  They swarm me when I turn on the water hose.  I spray the tree leaves so they can lite on them and drink.



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"Just living is not enough. One must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower."  ~Hans Christian Anderson

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"If you surrender to the wind, you can ride it." ~Toni Morrison

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Monday, May 17, 2010

Monet Refuses The Operation by Lisel Mueller

One of my favorite paintings by Claude Monet is "Bridge Over Water Lilies".  Claude Monet is a founder of French Impressionist painting.  ("Impression, Sunrise" is a painting by Claude Monet which gave rise to the name of the Impressionist movement.)  I love his soft lines and pastel colors.

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Ever so often I stumble across this poem in an anthology, or I pick up my copy of "Alive Together" by Ms. Meuller and it always blows me away, this poem.  I have to insist that you buy this book.  And not just because it won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry.  It's just overflowing with mind-blowing, amazing poems.  Go ahead and find it at Amazon or your local book store and buy it.  I promise you, it will give you hours and hours of pure joy.  :-)

Love & Blessings,



Monet Refuses the Operation
by Lisel Mueller

Doctor, you say there are no haloes
around the streetlights in Paris
and what I see is an aberration
caused by old age, an affliction.
I tell you it has taken me all my life
to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels,
to soften and blur and finally banish
the edges you regret I don’t see,
to learn that the line I called the horizon
does not exist and sky and water,
so long apart, are the same state of being.
Fifty-four years before I could see
Rouen cathedral is built
of parallel shafts of sun,
and now you want to restore
my youthful errors: fixed
notions of top and bottom,
the illusion of three-dimensional space,
wisteria separate
from the bridge it covers.
What can I say to convince you
the Houses of Parliament dissolve
night after night to become
the fluid dream of the Thames?
I will not return to a universe
of objects that don’t know each other,
as if islands were not the lost children
of one great continent. The world
is flux, and light becomes what it touches,
becomes water, lilies on water,
above and below water,
becomes lilac and mauve and yellow
and white and cerulean lamps,
small fists passing sunlight
so quickly to one another
that it would take long, streaming hair
inside my brush to catch it.
To paint the speed of light!
Our weighted shapes, these verticals,
burn to mix with air
and changes our bones, skin, clothes
to gases. Doctor,
if only you could see
how heaven pulls earth into its arms
and how infinitely the heart expands
to claim this world, blue vapor without end.

~from "Alive Together, New & Selected Poems"

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Yarrow by Andrea Gibson

My lovely lady Yarrow, May 2010

Yarrow stalks are traditionally thrown to read the I Ching, the ancient Chinese book of divination. Several years ago I dried enough Yarrow to make my own 50 I Ching sticks.  I am still studying the I Ching. 

Yarrows botanical name, Achillea millefolium refers to the ancient Greek hero Achilles, who, during the Trojan War, reputedly used it to treat his wounds. Its specific name means ‘a thousand leaves’ and refers to its feathery foliage. The folk name Nosebleed confirms its traditional use as an emergency styptic.

Looking down at Ms. Yarrow's heart, May 2010

Yarrow's feathery, delicate leaves betray her amazing strength and ancient lineage.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

by Andrea  Gibson

We packed our lives into the back of your truck
and drove two thousand miles
back to the only home you'd ever known.
On the bayou you ate crawfish
and god how I wished I had never become a vegetarian.

Here, whatever you came carrying
fell to the ground like Creole swamp rain.
Uptown you could watch the jazz notes float
from porch swings to sidewalks
of little girls playing jump rope and hopscotch,
to old women skipping rocks
across the gulf of the Mississippi
like heart beats they forgot they had,
while mid-city trombones
wrote love poems in lonely men's ears.

For a year we were gardeners.
"No, Andrea, yarrow doesn't grow here,
imagine a womb full of water,
plant like you would plant a daughter,
name her Iris, Rose, Magnolia, Gardenia."

You could hold the soil between your fingers
and smell gumbo and harmonicas.
Could smell po-boys and cathedrals on the same block.
"What do ya mean, you don't talk to strangers?
Come inside and see a picture of my son,
he raises hell, but he's a good one..."
Iris Rose, Magnolia, Gardenia,
when I heard of Katrina
I thought, "The flowers, save the flowers..."

I never thought for a second
we wouldn't save the people.

From:  Pole Dancing to Gospel Hymns, pages 11, 12 (This book is overflowing with amazing poetry!)

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Tarot Tuesday - Swords

Oh, why can't someone invent a self-cleaning stove!  Oh, they have?  Do they sell them at Goodwill because that's all I can afford right now.

Comet, it makes your mouth turn green,
Comet, it tastes like listerine.....
Remember that elementary school song?  I love Comet.  It mixes well with Taaka Vodka.

AFTER - Who knew a clean stove could double as a write-on board!  How cool is this?  Since I don't cook, I'm going to use that stove for writing from here on out.  (Ray dirtied it up cooking me T-Bone steaks for Mother's Day.)

I love the suit of Swords.  Many people don't.  There are four suits in the Minor Arcana of Tarot, 56 cards:  Cups (Emotions/Water), Swords (Intellect/Air), Pentacles (Material/Earth) and Wands (Creativity/Fire).   The Major Arcana consists of  22 cards---there are 78 cards in all.  I'll touch on them later.  I tried to write a Tarot poem, but it just wouldn't come.  Too much garbage in my head and around me.  I clean house on occasion to encourage the Muse to come back. The bitch hates a filthy house, she told me.  So....... 

I've spent the last 8 or so years studying Tarot.  I've spend thousands of dollars on books, cards, time, lessons, etc.  It's taught me much about myself, life, synchronicity, mythology, archetypes, and mystery.  Unfortunately, nobody offers a degree in Tarot.  But if you're interested in learning the Tarot, the best free site is Joan Bunning's  She also has reviews of many of the decks available and she has a book out with all of the online lessons in it.

The Suit of Swords:

"The Swords are the suit of intellect, thought and reason. They are concerned with justice, truth and ethical principles. Swords are associated with the element Air. A cloudless sky, open and light-filled, is a symbol of the mental clarity that is the Swords ideal. This suit is also associated with states that lead to disharmony and unhappiness. Our intellect is a valuable asset, but as an agent of ego, it can lead us astray if it is not infused with the wisdom of our Inner Guide."  ~From:
I'm attempting housework today.  I had to stop walking for exercise due to the severe pain in my knees and back.  I sent Ray to the movies so I wouldn't holler at him while I clean.  He tries, bless his heart, but I've yet to meet the man who can clean as good as a woman.  Yes, I'm prejudiced.  I'm going now to clean one more thing, like the sink maybe.  FYI:  The Vodka bottle is a joke.  I do not drink.  Seriously, Ray found that bottle full in the woods across the street.  We poured it out, but I saved the bottle for a craft project.  (Sounds good, right?  LOL!)
I leave you with a few photos of new flowers/plants my sweet husband gave me for Mother's Day.  (Even though, every year, I adamantly say, "I ain't yo Mama!")   Oh, we sent Mama a big box of Godiva Truffles which she'd never tasted before.  She called me and said, "These are better than sex!!!"  (I replied, "Mama, do you even remember sex?"   Her reply, "BITE ME"!  She's 81 and as sharp as a tack, God love her. 
Have a good week, bloggers, and be kind to yourself.
~Marion, in a funky mood....

Three new rich, healthy ferns.  I love ferns and they love me right back.

A pretty light pink Geranium, one of my favorite flowers.  I put it in a hanging basket.

This hot pink Geranium is in my patio flower bed.  It almost shimmers with pink-ness!

Ms. Red Thang Geranium.  She's HOT.  She's also in my patio flower bed.

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"My green thumb came only as a result of the mistakes I made while learning to see things from the plant's point of view."  ~H. Fred Dale


Saturday, May 8, 2010

Poetry by Pablo Neruda and To Pablo Neruda by Erica Jong Fast

Fresh Red Strawberries in Blue Dragon Bowl by Marion

By Pablo Neruda

And it was at that age ... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
that fire,
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
and open,
palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated,
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
likeness, image of
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.

~Pablo Neruda

It was Erica Jong Fast's poetry that led me to Pablo Neruda.  I share the poem here which led me to his amazing works:

To Pablo Neruda
By Erica Jong Fast

Again & again
I have read your books
without ever wishing to know you.

I suck the alphabet of blood.
I chew the iron filings of your words.
I kiss your images like moist mouths
while the black seeds of your syllables
fly, fly, fly
into my lungs.

Untranslated, untranslatable,
you are rooted inside me--
not you--but the you
of your poems:

the man of his word,
the lover who digs into the alien soil
of one North American woman
& plants a baby--
love-child of Whitman
crossed with the Spanish language,
embryo, sapling, half-breed
of my tongue.

I saw you once--
your flesh--
at Columbia.
My alma mater
& you the visiting soul.

you sat before a Buddha;
& the audience
craned its neck
to take you in.

Freak show--
visiting poet.
You sat clothed
in your thick
imperious flesh.

I wanted to comfort you
& not to stare.
Our words knew each other.
That was enough.

Now you are dead
of fascism & cancer--
your books scattered,
the oil cruet on the floor.

The sea surges through your house
at Isla Negra,
& the jackboots
walk on water.

Poet of cats & grapefruits,
of elephant saints;
poet of broken dishes
& Machu Picchu;
poet of panthers
& pantheresses;
poet of lemons,
poet of lemony light.

The flies swarm
thicker than print on a page,
& poetry blackens
like overripe bananas.
The fascists you hated,
the communists you loved,
obscure the light, the lemons
with their buzzing.

We were together
on the side of light.
We walked together
though we never met.

The eyes are not political,
nor the tastebuds,
& the flesh tastes salty always
like the sea;
& the sea
turns back the flies.


Friday, May 7, 2010

Love Poems From God by Daniel Ladinsky

This is an amazing book overflowing with wisdom, love and compassion.  The subtitle is "Twelve Sacred Voices From the East and West".  To me, the poems were more of the author's interpretation than a literal translation, but they're still awesome. 

Sitting on my book shelf with hundreds of other books, it glows with light and is warm to the touch when I hold it in my hands. 

From the Preface:

"Hafiz sings, 'A poet is someone who can pour light into a cup, then raise it to nourish your beautiful, holy, parched mouth.'" page xii

"I hope a few of these poems will reach in deep enough to cure what separates us from each other, and from the beautiful.  I hope you fall into this wine barrel (this book) and crawl out legally drunk, and get arrested for doing something that makes God proud of you, like being too happy."  page xii

I'll share a few of my favorite poems, the ones that radiated light to me.  Enjoy! 



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Dear God, please reveal to us
your sublime

that is everywhere, everywhere, everywhere,

so that we will never again
feel frightened.

My divine love, my love,
please let us touch
your face.

St. Francis of Assisi, Page 56

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Vulnerable we are, like an infant.
We need each other's care
or we will

St. Catherine of Siena, Page 185

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I had tea yesterday with a great theologian,
and he asked me,

"What is your experience of God's will?"

I liked that question---
for the distillation of thought hones thought in others.
Clarity, I know, is freedom.

What is my experience of God's will?

Everyone is a traveler.  Most all need lodging, food,
and clothes.

I let enter my mouth what will enrich me.  I wear what
will make my eyes content,
I sleep where I will
wake with the
strength to

all my mind can

What is God's will for a wing?
Every bird knows

St. Teresa of Avila, Page 279

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A thorn has entered your foot.  That is why you
weep at times at

There are some in this world
who can pull it

The skill that takes they have
learned from

St. Catherine of Siena, page 190

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did the rose

ever open its heart

and give to this world all of its beauty?

It felt the encouragement of light against its being,

otherwise we all remain

too frightened.

By Hafiz, Page 161

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He has never left you.

It is just
that your soul is so vast
that just like

the earth in its innocence,
it may think,

"I do not feel my lover's warmth
against my face right

But look, dear,
is not the sun reaching down its arms
and always holding a continent
in its light?

God cannot leave us.
It is just that our soul is so vast,

we do not always feel His lips
upon the

St. Catherine of Siena, Page 200

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Godlight radiating from my purple Morning Glorys.

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"A man can no more diminish God's glory by refusing to worship Him than a lunatic can put out the sun by scribbling the word, 'darkness' on the walls of his cell." ~C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain

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"The feeling remains that God is on the journey, too." ~Teresa of Avila

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Monday, May 3, 2010

There Are So Many Tictoc - e. e. cummings

"The Persistence of Memory" by Salvador Dali

By e. e. cummings

there are so many tictoc
clocks everywhere telling people
what toctic time it is for
tictic instance five toc minutes toc
past six tic

Spring is not regulated and does
not get out of order nor do
its hands a little jerking move
over numbers slowly

we do not
wind it up it has no weights
springs wheels inside of
its slender self no indeed dear
nothing of the kind.

(So,when kiss Spring comes
we'll kiss each kiss other on kiss the kiss
lips because tic clocks toc don't make
a toctic difference
to kisskiss you and to
kiss me)


I believe this e. e. cummings poem and the Salvador Dali painting are just made for each other.  And how perfect for a Monday, right? 

Wishing you all sunshine and broken clocks.  :-)



"Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life." ~William Faulkner


"The clock talked loud. I threw it away, it scared me what it talked." ~Tillie Olsen, Tell Me a Riddle


"Even a broken clock is right twice a day."  ~Author Unknown


"Time is the coin of your life. It is the only coin you have, and only you can determine how it will be spent. Be careful lest you let other people spend it for you." ~Carl Sandburg


Saturday, May 1, 2010

His Wife by Andrew Hudgins - Perfect Garden Poem!

Apple Mint, April 2010

Cherry Tomatoes, 2009

Rose Geranium's Flower, April 2010

His Wife
by Andrew Hudgins

My wife is not afraid of dirt.
She spends each morning gardening,
stooped over, watering, pulling weeds,

removing insects from her plants
and pinching them until they burst.
She won't grow marigolds or hollyhocks,
just onions, eggplants, peppers, peas –
things we can eat. And while she sweats
I'm working on my poetry and flute.
Then growing tired of all that art,
I've strolled out to the garden plot
and seen her pull a tomato from the vine
and bite into the unwashed fruit
like a soft, hot apple in her hand.
The juice streams down her dirty chin
and tiny seeds stick to her lips.
Her eye is clear, her body full of light,
and when, at night, I hold her close,
she smells of mint and lemon balm.

From:  American Rendering: New and Selected Poems