Hurricane Season

I don't know who wrote this, so for now, I'll credit it to "Anonymous".

 

 

Hey, y'all.  Happy hurricane season!  (June 1 till November 30).  Here's a big ole 'fuck you' to State Farm Insurance and the entire insurance industry for stealing even more money from hard-working middle class folks.  We got a letter a few months ago saying we're no longer covered if our home receives damage during a 'named hurricane'.  I cussed out everyone I could find while they hemmed and hawed.  It's yet another government scam to take our money and give us nothing in return.  I still have to pay several thousand dollars a year for insurance, but I'm just not covered pretty much half the year.  Hell, about the only time a person in Louisiana has damage to their home is during hurricane season!  And for the record, I'm nowhere near the coast.  (Phew, I feel better...steppin' off my soap box for now.....)

 

I have searched and searched for the origin of that poem.  I don't know where I got it or when, but found it glued into one of my old journals, so I'm sure I found it somewhere on the Internet---or not.  I do still have my trusty typewriter, but I haven't drug it out in too many moons to count.  I love, love, love this poem or beginning of a poem.  I, too, was born in the heart of hurricane season (on the full moon in the sign of Moonchild) and truly wish I had written this, but I didn't.

 

If you wrote it or know who did, please let me know. 

 

xo,

Marion

 

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It was one of those hot, silent nights, when people sit at windows, listening for the thunder which they know will shortly break; when they recall dismal tales of hurricanes and earthquakes; and of lonely travellers on open plains, and lonely ships at sea, struck by lightning. ~Charles Dickens, Martin Chuzzlewit, Chapter XLII

 

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The wind shows us how close to the edge we are. ~Joan Didion

 

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Trapeze by Deborah Digges

Jetstream 'dragonfly' in my neighborhood last summer

 

 

TRAPEZE

By Deborah Digges, 1950 - 2009

 

See how the first dark takes the city in its arms 
and carries it into what yesterday we called the future. 

O, the dying are such acrobats. 
Here you must take a boat from one day to the next, 

or clutch the girders of the bridge, hand over hand. 
But they are sailing like a pendulum between eternity and evening, 

diving, recovering, balancing the air. 
Who can tell at this hour seabirds from starlings, 

wind from revolving doors or currents off the river. 
Some are as children on swings pumping higher and higher. 

Don’t call them back, don’t call them in for supper. 
See, they leave scuff marks like jet trails on the sky.

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Who It Is Accuses Us by Linda Pastan

My kitchen window sill altar:  Jesus, a fallen Orchid, and the bones of a crucifix fish I found on the Galveston beach years ago:  Ariopsis felis (hardhead sea catfish, Ariidae).

 

Who It Is Accuses Us

By Linda Pastan

Who it is accuses us of safety,

as if the family were soldiers

instead of hostages,

as if the gardens were not mined

with explosive peonies,

as if the most common death

were not by household accident?

We have chosen the dangerous life.

Consider the pale necks of the children

under their colored head scarves,

the skin around the husband's eyes, flayed

by guilt and promises.

 

You who risk no more than your own skins

I tell you household Gods

are jealous Gods.

They will cover your window sills

with the dust of sunsets;

they will poison your secret wells

with longing.

From:  "Waiting For My Life" by Linda Pastan, page 34

 

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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 soul can split the sky in two and let the face of God shine through." ~Edna St. Vincent Millay........from her amazing poem, Renascence.

 

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Alone and Drinking Under the Moon by Li Po

Early moon tangled in limbs with jet stream, November, 2011

Alone and Drinking Under the Moon
By Li Po

Amongst the flowers I
am alone with my pot of wine
drinking by myself; then lifting
my cup I asked the moon
to drink with me, its reflection
and mine in the wine cup, just
the three of us; then I sigh
for the moon cannot drink,
and my shadow goes emptily along
with me never saying a word;
with no other friends here, I can
but use these two for company;
in the time of happiness, I
too must be happy with all
around me; I sit and sing
and it is as if the moon
accompanies me; then if I
dance, it is my shadow that
dances along with me; while
still not drunk, I am glad
to make the moon and my shadow
into friends, but then when
I have drunk too much, we
all part; yet these are
friends I can always count on
these who have no emotion
whatsoever; I hope that one day
we three will meet again,
deep in the Milky Way.           
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Traditionally considered one of China's greatest poets, Li Po lived from 701 to 762 A.D., during the Tang dynasty or T'ang dynasty (618–907) Chinese dynasty that succeeded the short-lived Sui and became a golden age for poetry, sculpture, and Buddhism.  Legend holds that Li drowned when he reached from his boat to grasp the moon’s reflection in the river.

======================

I so love Li Po and have read his poetry for many, many moons.  He's my hero, my patron poet of winos, for sure.  (A.M.S., can you say amen?  LOL!!!!  You know I love you, the woman who turned me on to the most delicious, affordable wine on God's green earth, Apothic Red.)  If you drink wine, then definitely try this one---in moderation, of course.  It runs about $10 on sale at Albertson's. 

I hope all of you in the U.S., have a safe, happy Memorial Day weekend.  Have a drink for me, would you?

xo,
Marion

Alley Cat Love Song by Dana Gioia

Gir, in cat heaven, I guess.

 

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Alley Cat Love Song
By Dana Gioia

Come into the garden, Fred,
For the neighborhood tabby is gone.
Come into the garden, Fred.
I have nothing but my flea collar on,
And the scent of catnip has gone to my head.
I'll wait by the screen door till dawn.

The fireflies court in the sweetgum tree.
The nightjar calls from the pine,
And she seems to say in her rhapsody,
"Oh, mustard-brown Fred, be mine!"
The full moon lights my whiskers afire,
And the fur goes erect on my spine.

I hear the frogs in the muddy lake
Croaking from shore to shore.
They've one swift season to soothe their ache.
In autumn they sing no more.
So ignore me now, and you'll hear my meow
As I scratch all night at the door.

from:  Interrogations at Noon, 2001

 

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My brain is tabula rasa lately but for....I forget what. 

 

I am so sad about the evil happening in our world...those 200 girls kidnapped in Nigeria by those wicked, cruel COWARDS just breaks my heart and pisses me off royally.  As the mother of 2 daughters, I cannot imagine the pain their families must be enduring.... My prayers are with them all....

 

xo,
Marion

 

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"I brought children into this dark world because it needed the light that only a child can bring." ~Liz Armbruster

A Little Rumi

The Passionflower vine that planted itself now produces flowers.  Life's a trip sometimes.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Love lit a fire in my chest, and anything
that wasn't love left:  intellectual
subtlety, philosophy books,
school.
All I want now
to do or hear
is poetry.

~RUMI


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My Weeping Willow tree died.  It was thriving last year.  I'm not sure if it was the super cold winter we had or what, but it's history.  It's about the 10th one I've planted that lived a few years, then died.  That's life, I guess.

I discovered a new tree to try, a Weeping Mulberry.  My daughter in Nashville has this one in her front yard and sent me the photo.  I'm totally intrigued.  It also makes fruit (the female tree) that birds love and it's a fast grower.  I waited too late to plant it this year, but come next Spring, I'm planting one: 

Weeping Mulberry Tree

 

 

Storms are expected today & tomorrow and here come the thunder.  We need the rain.  It's already been in the 90's for the past few days.  Yikes!  And it's still early May.

I hope all you mothers out there have a wonderful Mother's Day.  We're visiting Mama one day next week and I can't wait to see her.  She's improved since the stroke, but her back is getting worse with a diagnosis of perhaps paralysis soon.  I hope and pray not.  Please remember her in your thoughts and prayers.

xo,
Marion


"A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie." ~Tenneva Jordan

The Tiger by William Blake

This has been on my fridge for many years.  It's my favorite Calvin & Hobbes of all time. 

 

 

The Tiger

By William Blake (from 'Songs of Experience').

 

Tyger Tyger, burning bright, 

In the forests of the night; 

What immortal hand or eye, 

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

 

In what distant deeps or skies. 

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand, dare seize the fire?

 

And what shoulder, & what art,

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand? & what dread feet?
 

What the hammer? what the chain, 

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? what dread grasp, 

Dare its deadly terrors clasp! 

 

When the stars threw down their spears 

And water'd heaven with their tears: 

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

 

Tyger Tyger burning bright, 

In the forests of the night: 

What immortal hand or eye,

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

 

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Thank God for poetry, humor and cats.

 

xo,

Marion

Life Gets in the Way

My sister sent me this.  So, so me.  :-)

 

 

Our cat, Tigger, had to be put to sleep about a month ago.  She was almost 20 years old and developed kidney failure, but we were ready for her to go, knowing her age and not wanting her to suffer.  I miss her little tippy-toeing around the house.  She was a real lady, always polite and sweet.

 

The same week, my special/favorite black cat, Gir, vanished into thin air.  He's been missing for 3 weeks now.  He's 8 years old and totally crazy/insane.  That's why we named him after an alien from the kids cartoon, "Invader Zim".  The character, Gir, is an alien in a dog suit.  I told my husband that Gir (who loved to fly...clamber onto the roof and LEAP onto fence posts) just went back to his home planet with Zim.  It's the strangest thing.  We put out hundreds of flyers, offered a reward, talked to every neighbor in our small neighborhood, walked miles through the local woods and put notices on the animal shelter sites and local stores.  Nothing.  No body, no cat, no Gir.  Like I said, it's like he vanished into thin air. 

 

I tell myself that he went to cat heaven to be with Tigger.  Only Gir didn't like Tigger and they often bitch-slapped each other.  Tee-hee.  I guess we'll never know what happened to him.  It hurts my heart to even think of him suffering and dying.  I hope he sprouted wings and just flew on to cat heaven.

 

Pets give us so much joy, but they also break our hearts into tiny little pieces.  My other cats keep looking for him and Tigger.  I only hope there are butterflies and dragonflies where Gir is because he loved to leap into the air and chase them.  The poor baby never caught one, but he sure had fun trying.

 

xo,

Marion

 

Gir, whose ears were too big, teeth too long, tail too long and claws like Velcro that stuck into everything he touched.  I miss you, crazy kitty.

 

 

Jubilate Agno, Fragment B,

[For I will consider my Cat Gir]

(Apologies to Christopher Smart for changing Jeoffry's name throughout to Gir....  ~Marion)

 

For I will consider my Cat Gir.
For he is the servant of the Living God, duly and daily 

serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he

worships in his way.
For is this done by wreathing his body seven times round

with elegant quickness.
For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God

upon his prayer.
For he rolls upon prank to work it in.
For having done duty and received blessing he begins to

consider himself.
For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he looks upon his forepaws to see if they are clean.
For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there.
For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the forepaws extended.
For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood.
For fifthly he washes himself.
For sixthly he rolls upon wash.
For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be 

interrupted upon the beat.
For eighthly he rubs himself against a post.
For ninthly he looks up for his instructions.
For tenthly he goes in quest of food.
For having considered God and himself he will

consider his neighbor.
For if he meets another cat he will kiss her in kindness.
For when he takes his prey he plays with it to give it a chance.
For one mouse in seven escapes by his dallying.
For when his day’s work is done his business more properly begins.
For he keeps the Lord’s watch in the night against the adversary. 
For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical skin

and glaring eyes.
For he counteracts the Devil, who is death, by brisking about the life.
For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him.
For he is of the tribe of Tiger.
For the Cherub Cat is a term of the Angel Tiger.
For he has the subtlety and hissing of a serpent, which in

goodness he suppresses.
For he will not do destruction if he is well-fed, neither will

he spit without provocation.
For he purrs in thankfulness when God tells him he’s a good Cat.
For he is an instrument for the children to learn benevolence upon.
For every house is incomplete without him, and a blessing is lacking in

the spirit.
For the Lord commanded Moses concerning the cats at the departure of the

Children of Israel from Egypt.
For every family had one cat at least in the bag.
For the Louisiana Cats are the best in America.
For he is the cleanest in the use of his forepaws of any quadruped.
For the dexterity of his defense is an instance of the love of God

to him exceedingly.
For he is the quickest to his mark of any creature.
For he is tenacious of his point.
For he is a mixture of gravity and waggery.
For he knows that God is his Saviour.
For there is nothing sweeter than his peace when at rest. 
For there is nothing brisker than his life when in motion. 
For he is of the Lord’s poor, and so indeed is he called by 

benevolence perpetually--Poor Gir!  the rat has bit thy throat.
For I bless the name of the Lord Jesus that Gir is better. 
For the divine spirit comes about his body to sustain

it in complete cat.
For his tongue is exceeding pure so that it has in purity what

it wants in music.
For he is docile and can learn certain things.
For he can sit up with gravity, which is patience upon approbation.
For he can fetch and carry, which is patience in employment.
For he can jump over a stick, which is patience upon proof positive.
For he can spraggle upon waggle at the word of command.
For he can jump from an eminence into his master’s bosom.
For he can catch the cork and toss it again.
For he is hated by the hypocrite and miser.
For the former is afraid of detection. 
For the latter refuses the charge.
For he camels his back to bear the first notion of business.
For he is good to think on, if a man would express himself neatly.
For he made a great figure in Egypt for his signal services.
For he killed the Icneumon rat, very pernicious by land.
For his ears are so acute that they sting again.
For from this proceeds the passing quickness of his attention.
For by stroking of him I have found out electricity.
For I perceived God’s light about him both wax and fire.
For the electrical fire is the spiritual substance which 

God sends from heaven to sustain the 
            bodies both of man and beast.
For God has blessed him in the variety of his movements.
For, though he can fly, he is an excellent clamberer.
For his motions upon the face of the earth are more

than any other quadruped.
For he can tread to all the measures upon the music.
For he can swim for life.
For he can creep.

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Rest in peace, my beloved, sweet, one-of-a-kind friend.  I miss you.  :-(

Birds and Bees by Faith Shearin

 

BIRDS AND BEES
By Faith Shearin

When my daughter starts asking I realize
I don't know which, if any, birds
have penises. I can't picture how swans

do it. I'm even confused about bees:
that fat queen and her neurotic workers,
her children grown in cells. I'm worried

by turtles and snakes: their parts hidden
in places I have never seen. How do they
undress? Long ago, awash in college

boyfriends, I knew a little about sex.
I understood the dances and calls,
the pretty plumage. Now, I am as ignorant

as a child. We have gone to the library
to find books though I know sex
is too wild for words. The desire to be

kissed is the desire to live forever
in the mouth of pleasure. My God
I can never tell my daughter the truth.

It is a secret the way spring is a secret,
buried in February's fields. It is a secret
the way babies are a secret: hidden

by skin or egg, their bodies made of darkness.

"Birds and Bees" by Faith Shearin from "Moving the Piano".

Some Peep Humor

 

When in doubt, laugh.

 

 

The cops picked up some other chicks, but they weren't her peeps.