The Eye of the Human Storm

Today’s forecast
Pain with a chance of happiness
Life
It hurts
Our first breath
Born in and out of
Pain
Our last breath
Born in and out of the fear of
Death
Beginning to end
The human struggle to keep moving
Beyond the current pain so we may
Endure the next
To begin again
The circle, the cycle
Of life, of pain
To reach our destination
Death
So
What is the point?
When one ends where one begins?
What is the point?
The middle
Is the point
To feel the heart beat
Of a lover
To hear the laughter
Of a child
To know the touch of another
The touch that completes
Our circle
Ones who will rejoice with us
And for us
And those who will mourn us
But more
Remember
That we were here
That we mattered
That we made the difference
That we closed a part of their own circle
And that they too
Closed a part of ours
To gather
At the end of the day
To hear the sounds of silence
The human sounds
We make without knowing
The sounds of love
And life
The middle
Those sounds our ears miss,
But that our hearts hear
These are the sounds of silence
So loud we are compelled to
Listen
Struggle to keep moving
From one pain to another
For in the end
It is not the pain
We Remember
It is
Love
Our circles have no true beginning
They meld
With our ending
We only have what is in
The middle
Today’s forecast
Pain with a chance of happiness
Take an umbrella if you must
Wear your raincoat
Wear galoshes if you have to
But
Prepare more for getting swept
Into the middle
‘Cause that’s where life happens
In the middle
Never be afraid to get wet
So
Put the fear aside
Go beyond the tropical storm of prologue
Fear not the hurricane of the epilogue
Walk into the wind
Get pummeled by the rain
Get to the eye
The middle
Where the calm allows us to hear
The human sounds of silence

The sounds of Love

For My Father

My First Love ~ My Only Hero

R.I.P. Superman

The Cup Runneth Over

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As I anxiously await the next matches of the quarter finals, sending my silent plea to the footie gods for Kompany to kick ass and Messi to go home (he soooo good!), van Persie’s persistence outplaying Acosta, I can’t help wondering if I’m the norm when it comes to World Cup fans or if hanging in and routing teams NOT my own, is a rarity.

Of course I would have liked the USA to have kicked that same Belgian arse (1 minute of overage time? really?)
But we didn’t, so no use crying over spilt beer!
(Though HUGE props to Tim for an astounding performance in the cage!)

I like to think tournaments like the World Cup attract fans that hang in to the end…much like the Olympics…regardless of where their own countries finish. I think the host country’s fans have been a shining example of cheering the game for the game’s sake. Though the fact their team is still in it may have something to do with it, I do think they’ve been excellent hosts.

And as for me, I also feel this has been one of the best World Cups I’ve ever seen, with the caveat that the officiating has been rubbish!.
Even so, The Cup runneth over with surprise advances and superior substitutions

(not to mention ‘minutes and minutes’ of theatrical drama played out for our viewing pleasure 😉

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So…for any of you still hanging in and routing on…enjoy the rest of the tourney.
If things continue as they have…it promises to be as good a final as there ever was.

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GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL

David and Golliath – Thoughts on Independence

As we approach our nation’s day of independence, I had a thought or two that I’d like to share. In honor of all who fought, died, survived, and still fight so we may enjoy…our country’s ultimate day of freedom…Happy July 4th America
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seventeen hundred and seventy six
this day in that year our fate we did fix

we rallied and warred and we bled the fields red
all for the right to our freedom instead

of the yolk from an empire determined we bow
to king and to country, the collective high brow

we started ignorant, starving, and poor
equipped with nothing but freedom’s allure

one hundred times two add to that thirty-eight
the years then to now, the days fate to fate

our beginnings were humble, and not always sainted
to think what we’ve done to the darker and painted

all we can strive for is continu-ed learning
to treat all as equals, we all have that yearning

for the freedoms hard fought and hard won from oppressors
it’s not up to us to now be the aggressors

but when those who still fight for the simplest of freedoms
can’t live and can’t love and can’t grow their own kingdoms

I will not say war is always the answer
but fight we should still against any agenda

that takes away rights to live free and live true
a war worth waging, battles must ensue

to live in a world that allows you to be
everything imagined, the power of we

I hate that our country is still fighting wars
but hate more would I if we sat on the shores

of our own piece of heaven, at the same time deny
the same to others who’d enjoy it but by

the happenstance of geography
but for that they’d be me

but for where I was born
I could easily live in a country that’s torn

should I feel guilty? should I feel blessed?
to one I’ll say no, to the other I’ll say yes

I won’t lay claim to guilt not my doing
but nor condone I, those who hope our ungluing

a believer am I of “get what you pay” for
but not when one has and the other is dirt poor

if you cannot fight for the basic of rights
then why should we feel bad for fighting their fight?

goliaths are bullies, and davids are smaller
but bigger’s just bigger, not better, just taller

the true winner wins when the heart is the weapon
big losers lose when they continually lessen

the right of the people, equality all
pride goeth ‘fore the mightiest fall

in honor of our freedom, in honor of our fight
a prayer I’ll say ‘fore this morning is night

may all who seek peace and all who seek freedom
know you’re not alone as long as we are one

nation of davids, scrappers are we
a nation of davids, who’ll fight ’til you’re free
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Let Freedom Ring

One of those times…

Often times, with(out) rhyme or reason
I cook up a poem and sprinkle it with season

My words, just like the food that I cook
Can appear as one thing upon first look

Simple, country, amateur dishes
Like green eggs and ham or chips and fishes

But should you be willing to read ‘tween the lines
Or take the next bite, I hope you’ll find

Layers of meaning like layers of flavor
Words that surprise and tastes to savor

The nuance of herbs and hints of spice
The question I leave you with “naughty or nice?”

And, if you care to, witness you will
The care that I use to practice this skill

Whether gliding the pen ‘cross the paper’s bow
Or fondling keys, like I’m doing now

Salting or peppering, kneading or rolling
For grilling or frying, baking or boiling

My use of the pen or the knife does not matter
The result is the same whether poem or batter

I want you to love it and then ask for more
Not for the praise, not to keep score

I want to feed both, the mind and the belly
A creamy word-spread to go with hot jelly

It’s said all a good cook needs in the kitchen
Is to express love through food (and to feed dem dats bitchin’)

So what does it take to make a good poet?
A mind a bit quirky and not afraid to show it

Let’s cook

😉

History Beats the Heat

Want a better way to

get off the street?

beat the heat?

spare the feet meat?

Do you like

impressionists?

expressionists?

nationalists?

Are you turned on by

rarities?

deities?

barbarities?

Can you relate to

Athenians?

Egyptians?

Romans and Africans?

Are you into

modern art?

classical art?

primitive art?

Do you want

historical?

mythical?

or maybe prehistorical?

There is a way

to spend the day

with those that walked before us

That is to say

if you head that way

you just might spot a ‘saurus

Whatever you dig

or if digs are the fig

inside your personal ‘newton’

Then take a trip

aboard the ship

of the old masters, monsters, and Teutons

And as is my way

to share the day

maybe too my duty

To showcase one spot

that you’d otherwise not

experience the beauty

VMFA view

Of reeds so red

rising from the bed

with nary a thing shielding

In the Reeds

While waters dance

and winds advance

the fragile stand unyielding

Red Reeds and propellers

*Chihuly’s Glass Red Reeds at the Virginia Museum of Fine Art

Fridays with Murphy and Me

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I’m sure this image spoke to me the day I snapped it

Was it the flowers the drew my eye?

Was it a feeling of being on the outside looking in?

Vice versa?

Getting my head caught in the ropes (a.k.a. arghhhh)?

Swiss cheese being what it is…I’ve forgotten it or lost it or maybe I just thought it was pretty at the time

However you look at it…I’m damned if I know now

😳

So…as I often do when this happens, I just sit and stare at it.

Sometimes I fuss around with it…change a filter here, contrast there, funk it up a bit to see if it yells something out.

The funk didn’t help, as it is not telling me what it wanted to say, but it did put me in mind of something…

Murphy

Don’t ask…as I haven’t a clue

Just Murphy

You know…that fabled and famous guy that no one seems to be able to say exactly who or where or when or why…

There are as many stories as to how Murphy came to be associated with the worst luck ever as there are variations of the language of the law itself

Anyway…Murphy’s Law as I know it

“Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong”

Okay…well, if you think about it, it’s not so bad really

Without things going wrong, we wouldn’t use our noggins to figure shit out

Right?

Even those folks for whom everything seems to go wrong (ahem), it’s still not always a bad thing if those ‘wrongs’ turn into learning opportunities.

Learning to do things a different way, a better way, an easier way, the ‘right’ way?

Seems so to me anyway…and I consider myself in a good position to say so, considering the shit storm my life has been the last couple years

But hey, that’s Life and Life comes with just one promise…

Your Life promises to be your greatest adventure

Yes, it does

Where else can it be said that every minute of every day has the promise to be different from the one before?

If it isn’t, it’s not because it’s Life’s fault…it’s ours

We have the choice…sit in one spot, don’t move, don’t think, don’t eat, don’t drink, don’t sleep…die

OR

Get up, move around, go up, go down (sure…that way too), get outside, go inside, walk, drive, sing, love, laugh, cry, pout, clean, drink, eat…

Need I go on?

Every single one of those things is part of the adventure promised with each new second

Every promise can be fulfilled if we choose to make it happen

So…Murphy?

Sure, why not

But let’s go one better…

How about adding some new laws?

Just to keep us on the ‘that’s Life where every second promises a new adventure’ track

And to absolutely keep us on those ‘things on our feet that help us find furniture in the dark’….TOES

So in keeping with that…

Anytime you have a 50-50 chance of getting something right, there’s a 90% probability you’ll get it wrong.
The things that come to those who wait, may just be the things left by those who got there first.
If the shoe fits, get another one just like it.
Change is inevitable, except from a vending machine
A day without sunshine is like, well, night
He, who laughs last, thinks slowest

Got more?

Good, I was hoping you did

Share them here so we can all add them to our ‘Today’s Problems are Tomorrow’s Opportunities” catalogs

And now…I’m venturing off to enjoy this second’s adventure and it involves a date with a certain “John”

haha

Happy Adventuring…xo

Language Barriers :O

Our bus stopped and 2 Italian men got on.
They sat down in the seat in front of me and engaged in an animated conversation.

I ignored them at first,
But my attention was galvanized when I heard one of them say the following:

“Emma come first.
Den I come.
Den two asses come together.
I come once-a-more!
Two asses, they come together again.
I come again and pee twice.
Then I come one lasta time.”

I can’t take it anymore…
“Hey, you foul-mouthed sex obsessed pigs!”  I retorted indignantly, hissing between my teeth.
‘In this country, we don’t speak aloud in public places about our sex lives!”

“Hey, coola down lady,” animatedly exclaimed the one.

“Whooza talkina about sex?” asked the other, looking completely perplexed.

“I’m a justa tellina my frienda how to spell Mississippi” the first cried, looking at me like I had two heads.

Bet ya a buck you’re going to read it again!

😉

Part II – Opening a Window

today she wakes
and looks in the mirror
again
she notices first
that she is not alone
there, in the reflected layers of her life
a reunion of all who have walked with her
loved with her
laughed and cried with her
survived with her
leaving pieces of their own hearts, like beacons
along the path she now travels
softly focused, each smile touches her soul
some, instantly recognizable
familiar and loved faces of those who have made a difference in her life
how could she have forgotten?
others are strangers, unknown and unmet
but she hears them whisper…
“you have made a difference in ours”
how could she have known?
so many
she never realized
the power of one
but she feels its truth in the swelling of her heart
♥
she feels him there
she doesn’t have to seek him out
in every layer, his is the brightest light
drawing her back through each layer
back and back and back to their beginning
he shows her and whispers to her heart…
“this is how you’ll always be to me; this is how I’ll always be to you”
he takes her hand and moves forward
she sees the evolution of their lives
the birth of their greatest joy
great gains and greater losses
buds of youth giving way to blossoms of senescence
destined to fall from the tree of life
as all things must
closer and closer and closer
to this moment of here and now
he shows her and whispers to her heart…
“I am and always will be”
“You are and have always been”
“Nothing else matters”
“Nothing will ever change that”
♥
she turns, eyes bright with unshed tears
she sees
lines deep beside her smiling mouth
she knows
love’s power surging through her veins
she feels
whole
♥
then…
she opens the window

Part I – Knocking on the Door

today she wakes
and looks in the mirror
again
she notices first
the remnants of last night’s all too familiar routine
fully clothed still
with bruise colored footprints left where mascara met shadow
during the waltz of silent tears
evident again in the echo of wine and spit
that mixed and mingled in the dark
leaving traces of their orgy in the corners of her mouth
she raises a limb as heavy as any redwood branch
to touch the nest of bad dreams atop her head
she stares blankly at the woman before her
youth still lives here, but it wears an old coat
to look at the ghost of auburn that was once a crown
a flaming glory that framed her naturally pretty face
is now to look at a reminder
of yet another step further from who she was
another step closer to who she is becoming
where once there was silk and cream
her face is now but a road map
to anywhere but where she wants to be
no distinction can she find
between the sleep weary blouse
and those roads leading everywhere but back
she draws breath and holds it while she raises her gaze
could those eyes really be hers?
the once vivid seas of blue now faded and dull
surrounded by tributaries of red
brooks and streams of guilt, anguish, worry, pain, and sorrow
clouding the windows to her soul
where once there shined such joy and true passion
eyes that burned so bright, they lit the path to his heart
like no man made torch ever could
but
her passion lies miles away
alone, crooked, and silent
his windows too
mostly cloudy with a slight chance of sun
a chance she lives for
but the light thief will return
and she won’t be ready, can never be ready
for that one moment the thief becomes a murderer
the villain of darkness called dementia
her love waits, unknowingly, for that day
she waits with him, but she knows he’s coming
and it’s killing her

part II – Opening a Window