The fall into love begins as
A hypnotizing drift, born in a smile....
Quickens into breathless exhilaration...
Touch forces a heart-stopping pulse-racing tailspin...
Rapidly accelerating earthward
at supersonic heart-speed.
Catch me?
DLD/28JUL07
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Friday, July 27, 2007
saving space
saving space
in coloured jars...
neatly lined up on a shelf...
their beautiful emptiness
shining ruby, jade, gold, indigo, emerald...
glittering in the sunlight...
enough for all
DLD/27JUL07
in coloured jars...
neatly lined up on a shelf...
their beautiful emptiness
shining ruby, jade, gold, indigo, emerald...
glittering in the sunlight...
enough for all
DLD/27JUL07
Yeeehaaawww!!!!
The votes are in, ladies and gentlemen, and it seems that the LSE would like to lock me up within their hallowed halls for one more year! (....and I'm gonna love every minute of it....) *grin*
After six weeks of waiting, exam grades were finally released on the 11th....and they were good, but still inconclusive, sitting SMACK on the borderline between A's and B's, between a First Class standing and an Upper Second.... I had to wait another week for the letter grades to be converted into percentages, which helped to clarify somewhat, but still very much borderline.
Finally, this past Monday, I met with my "handlers" who are very very pleased with my progress this past year. They are confident that this coming year (the third and final of my BSc degree), I will be able to improve my B+ average to an A. Admittedly, I'm not as certain as they are, and even though they are predicting "good potential to graduate with a First"....I still see it as a very steep slope to navigate. In any case, I am very satisfied with a strong Upper Second standing and an official offer to finish my degree at the LSE. :)
It has been a very long, stressful, exciting, magnificent, overwhelming year of very hard work and high anxiety. Now that I see that I can "anthropologize" with some of the best (*grin*), I am very very glad that I made the decision to do this and thankful for all of the good friends that have supported my efforts along the way.
Next up? Paperwork! Oodles of paperwork! There are Canadian forms that need to be filled out, to confirm that I will be remaining in the UK for at least one more year. There are British forms to be filled out, including the renewal of my student visa. And there are mountains of documents to gather and applications to complete, in the hopes of finding a school that would like to offer me a position as a grad student in September 2008. Wish me luck!!
Onward and upward!!!
Listening to: A lovely Carlos Santana instrumental piece.
Wondering if my new reading lenses might be ready today. Would you believe my eyesight has IMPROVED? Sigh. Donna's life is really weird sometimes.
After six weeks of waiting, exam grades were finally released on the 11th....and they were good, but still inconclusive, sitting SMACK on the borderline between A's and B's, between a First Class standing and an Upper Second.... I had to wait another week for the letter grades to be converted into percentages, which helped to clarify somewhat, but still very much borderline.
Finally, this past Monday, I met with my "handlers" who are very very pleased with my progress this past year. They are confident that this coming year (the third and final of my BSc degree), I will be able to improve my B+ average to an A. Admittedly, I'm not as certain as they are, and even though they are predicting "good potential to graduate with a First"....I still see it as a very steep slope to navigate. In any case, I am very satisfied with a strong Upper Second standing and an official offer to finish my degree at the LSE. :)
It has been a very long, stressful, exciting, magnificent, overwhelming year of very hard work and high anxiety. Now that I see that I can "anthropologize" with some of the best (*grin*), I am very very glad that I made the decision to do this and thankful for all of the good friends that have supported my efforts along the way.
Next up? Paperwork! Oodles of paperwork! There are Canadian forms that need to be filled out, to confirm that I will be remaining in the UK for at least one more year. There are British forms to be filled out, including the renewal of my student visa. And there are mountains of documents to gather and applications to complete, in the hopes of finding a school that would like to offer me a position as a grad student in September 2008. Wish me luck!!
Onward and upward!!!
Listening to: A lovely Carlos Santana instrumental piece.
Wondering if my new reading lenses might be ready today. Would you believe my eyesight has IMPROVED? Sigh. Donna's life is really weird sometimes.
Yawn!
#38 - Little Dorrit, by Charles Dickens
Finished 7/26/07
Rating: 2/5
Total Pages: 3558 (Palm Pilot)
Reason for Reading: 18th/19th Century Novel
REVIEW: Certainly my least favourite Dickens novel. I had great difficulty forcing myself to continue with this, but it's DICKENS. Aren't we supposed to love Dickens? I did finish it, just because I was determined to find out how it turned out in the end, but most of the book put me to sleep. I'm glad to be able to move on to something new.
Finished 7/26/07
Rating: 2/5
Total Pages: 3558 (Palm Pilot)
Reason for Reading: 18th/19th Century Novel
REVIEW: Certainly my least favourite Dickens novel. I had great difficulty forcing myself to continue with this, but it's DICKENS. Aren't we supposed to love Dickens? I did finish it, just because I was determined to find out how it turned out in the end, but most of the book put me to sleep. I'm glad to be able to move on to something new.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Awakening
I've been working on this piece for some time now... you may have already seen bits and pieces of it here as I played with different sections. It is now complete, with a new title, and I post it here now in its entirety.
* * * * *
Awakening
I
She packed her heartache
into a battered leather valise with
scuffed-up edges and a broken lock,
and left.
Her past trailed out behind her
in long ribbons of barely acknowledged resentment
and unexpressed sorrow.
She surged into the unknown
with hardly a backward glance,
pushing her hair into place and adjusting her collar,
on the outside chance
that someone might notice
and give her a break.
II
She stood in line at the airport,
a pair of sunglasses with scratched lenses
dangling from her mouth,
while she absentmindedly checked her pockets,
wondering which one contained her passport.
The clerk glanced contemptuously at her small battered valise.
It wasn't sturdy enough to imprison the demons of her past,
and appeared far too humble to hold
the seeds of a new start.
She hefted the worn suitcase onto the conveyor belt,
then gathered up the incessant unending threads of guilt and unfulfilled obligations.
She impatiently stuffed the lot of them into her purse in a tangled mess.
"Snakes' honeymoon," she whispered,
not quite only to herself,
with a lopsided almost smile.
She narrowly dodged the barbed claws,
soaked overnight in sanctimonious retribution,
and said, "Anywhere. It doesn't matter."
The signature on the back of her credit card
was faded almost beyond recognition.
III
And she flew away on borrowed wings.
Every time she checked
(trying to be as unobtrusive as possible),
the ribbons of self-reproach had again become entangled,
tripping up her feet and twisting amongst her heartstrings.
Each time, she quickly snatched up the errant threads,
tore them from their new moorings,
and buried them under future details.
From her satchel, she retrieved a book
with an unadorned cover of soft brown leather
and a delicate ribbon of red silk to mark her page.
She reached into her pocket for the weighted fountain pen
that perfectly fit her grasp.
She opened to the first page
and began to write.
For a day and a night and yet another day
the words poured from her pen,
like drops of blood from her fingertips.
IV
She walked through the mysterious city,
carrying her preoccupations in a patchwork-quilted bag
tossed carelessly over her left shoulder.
She marvelled at the magnificence all around her,
but she no longer knew who she was.
Sometimes she crumbled
under the weight of the shattered voices
that continually cast out more lengths of entangling ribbons...
to ensnare her, to bind her, to drag her back
to a place that no longer existed.
And as she wandered the strange streets of her new life,
drifting aimlessly amongst the steel and glass towers of the daring,
she paused to pick up pieces of her lost self.
Some were familiar and recognizable,
others exotic and extraordinary.
At the end of the day,
tucked into her tiny room,
surrounded by the seeds of her newness,
she puzzled over how it all went together.
And even when the light grew dim
and none of the pieces seemed to fit,
she continued to collect and save them,
sorting them carefully into boxes labelled,
"Strength"...."Confidence"...."Courage"
And she used the trailing ribbons
to tie the boxes shut.
V
She wrote about the boy who loved hard work....
who travelled far, long before he was grown,
and how he found his future
in a distant place.
She wrote about the man who loved her so....
about how he slipped away into the darkness one day,
leaving a swirl of sparkling stardust
that surrounds and protects her
still and always.
She wrote about the boy who lost himself
in a dense fog of fear and confusion,
about how his world became small,
about how his walls collapsed inward
with a mighty reverberating crash.
She wrote about the lessons learned....
lessons of grief and fragility and recovery,
lessons of compassion and understanding and justice,
lessons of humility and determination and resilience.
She wrote about the two who walked by her side.
And she wrote about the little girl
who shone a brightness
upon them all.
Her pen danced an intricate path....
singing out the stories of how she came to be here....now....
and when the voice of her pen fell silent,
she quietly marked her place with the red ribbon,
gathered up all the tangled threads
(....thousands of miles of them....)
and wrapped them tightly around the book.
VI
Once upon a time
she loved again.
He came to her in the night
with music and dreams....tenderness and devotion....
He dripped starshine into the palm of her hand.
He placed sparkling moonbeams in her hair.
He smiled at the colour of her laughter.
And as the darkly brilliant sky unfolded into morning,
he brought her overflowing armfuls of violets and daisies
that filled her with the scent of enchantment.
He guided her gently through the maze
and helped her to untangle the twisted ribbons.
She gave him words of love
and that was enough.
"Come," she whispered.
And one sultry and sensuous night,
on a quietly deserted stretch of sand,
they listened to the surf and swayed in the moonlight.
The barriers dissolved and melted
into the salt sea between
and the words came easy.
In the end,
the alternating crests and troughs of their passion
became too much to bear.
The ocean flowed again
into the emptiness between
and the waves overtook them.
Glittering streams of starshine connect them yet....
a quietly shimmering affection, freely offered,
that stretches across the darkly wide seas
between.
VII
From her satchel, she retrieves a book.
She sets aside her sunglasses,
and brushes the palm of her hand
across the unadorned cover of soft brown leather,
pausing briefly at the bottom right-hand corner
to note the unassuming number "2"
etched there in gold foil.
She reaches into her pocket
for the weighted fountain pen that fits her grasp perfectly.
As she opens the book to the first page,
a flurry of butterflies escapes the confines of her gentle memories.
She smiles quietly and watches as they flutter away
in an iridescent joyfulness of multicoloured wings.
And, using the same delicate ribbon of red silk to mark her page,
she continues to write.
DLD/26JUL07
Listening to: When You Say You Love Me (Josh Groban).
* * * * *
Awakening
I
She packed her heartache
into a battered leather valise with
scuffed-up edges and a broken lock,
and left.
Her past trailed out behind her
in long ribbons of barely acknowledged resentment
and unexpressed sorrow.
She surged into the unknown
with hardly a backward glance,
pushing her hair into place and adjusting her collar,
on the outside chance
that someone might notice
and give her a break.
II
She stood in line at the airport,
a pair of sunglasses with scratched lenses
dangling from her mouth,
while she absentmindedly checked her pockets,
wondering which one contained her passport.
The clerk glanced contemptuously at her small battered valise.
It wasn't sturdy enough to imprison the demons of her past,
and appeared far too humble to hold
the seeds of a new start.
She hefted the worn suitcase onto the conveyor belt,
then gathered up the incessant unending threads of guilt and unfulfilled obligations.
She impatiently stuffed the lot of them into her purse in a tangled mess.
"Snakes' honeymoon," she whispered,
not quite only to herself,
with a lopsided almost smile.
She narrowly dodged the barbed claws,
soaked overnight in sanctimonious retribution,
and said, "Anywhere. It doesn't matter."
The signature on the back of her credit card
was faded almost beyond recognition.
III
And she flew away on borrowed wings.
Every time she checked
(trying to be as unobtrusive as possible),
the ribbons of self-reproach had again become entangled,
tripping up her feet and twisting amongst her heartstrings.
Each time, she quickly snatched up the errant threads,
tore them from their new moorings,
and buried them under future details.
From her satchel, she retrieved a book
with an unadorned cover of soft brown leather
and a delicate ribbon of red silk to mark her page.
She reached into her pocket for the weighted fountain pen
that perfectly fit her grasp.
She opened to the first page
and began to write.
For a day and a night and yet another day
the words poured from her pen,
like drops of blood from her fingertips.
IV
She walked through the mysterious city,
carrying her preoccupations in a patchwork-quilted bag
tossed carelessly over her left shoulder.
She marvelled at the magnificence all around her,
but she no longer knew who she was.
Sometimes she crumbled
under the weight of the shattered voices
that continually cast out more lengths of entangling ribbons...
to ensnare her, to bind her, to drag her back
to a place that no longer existed.
And as she wandered the strange streets of her new life,
drifting aimlessly amongst the steel and glass towers of the daring,
she paused to pick up pieces of her lost self.
Some were familiar and recognizable,
others exotic and extraordinary.
At the end of the day,
tucked into her tiny room,
surrounded by the seeds of her newness,
she puzzled over how it all went together.
And even when the light grew dim
and none of the pieces seemed to fit,
she continued to collect and save them,
sorting them carefully into boxes labelled,
"Strength"...."Confidence"...."Courage"
And she used the trailing ribbons
to tie the boxes shut.
V
She wrote about the boy who loved hard work....
who travelled far, long before he was grown,
and how he found his future
in a distant place.
She wrote about the man who loved her so....
about how he slipped away into the darkness one day,
leaving a swirl of sparkling stardust
that surrounds and protects her
still and always.
She wrote about the boy who lost himself
in a dense fog of fear and confusion,
about how his world became small,
about how his walls collapsed inward
with a mighty reverberating crash.
She wrote about the lessons learned....
lessons of grief and fragility and recovery,
lessons of compassion and understanding and justice,
lessons of humility and determination and resilience.
She wrote about the two who walked by her side.
And she wrote about the little girl
who shone a brightness
upon them all.
Her pen danced an intricate path....
singing out the stories of how she came to be here....now....
and when the voice of her pen fell silent,
she quietly marked her place with the red ribbon,
gathered up all the tangled threads
(....thousands of miles of them....)
and wrapped them tightly around the book.
VI
Once upon a time
she loved again.
He came to her in the night
with music and dreams....tenderness and devotion....
He dripped starshine into the palm of her hand.
He placed sparkling moonbeams in her hair.
He smiled at the colour of her laughter.
And as the darkly brilliant sky unfolded into morning,
he brought her overflowing armfuls of violets and daisies
that filled her with the scent of enchantment.
He guided her gently through the maze
and helped her to untangle the twisted ribbons.
She gave him words of love
and that was enough.
"Come," she whispered.
And one sultry and sensuous night,
on a quietly deserted stretch of sand,
they listened to the surf and swayed in the moonlight.
The barriers dissolved and melted
into the salt sea between
and the words came easy.
In the end,
the alternating crests and troughs of their passion
became too much to bear.
The ocean flowed again
into the emptiness between
and the waves overtook them.
Glittering streams of starshine connect them yet....
a quietly shimmering affection, freely offered,
that stretches across the darkly wide seas
between.
VII
From her satchel, she retrieves a book.
She sets aside her sunglasses,
and brushes the palm of her hand
across the unadorned cover of soft brown leather,
pausing briefly at the bottom right-hand corner
to note the unassuming number "2"
etched there in gold foil.
She reaches into her pocket
for the weighted fountain pen that fits her grasp perfectly.
As she opens the book to the first page,
a flurry of butterflies escapes the confines of her gentle memories.
She smiles quietly and watches as they flutter away
in an iridescent joyfulness of multicoloured wings.
And, using the same delicate ribbon of red silk to mark her page,
she continues to write.
DLD/26JUL07
Listening to: When You Say You Love Me (Josh Groban).
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Cathedral at Greenwich University
Cathedralby Gillian Clarke
Before the Saints, Dyfrig, Teilo, Eiddogwy;
before the bishops, the builders and stonemasons;
before artists and sculptors, Rossetti, Epstein;
before music, organists and choirs;
before the architects, Wood, Seddon, Prichard, Pace;
before the poetry of psalm and hymn and common prayer;
before there were words
for ‘cathedral’, ‘architecture’, ‘art’,
when our first house was the great original forest,
when our ancestors walked in the aisles of trees
and gazed up at such loftiness confused,
perhaps, by inexplicable longing;
before there was a word for wonder,
or names for stars, or footprints on the moon;
before St Teilo raised his little church just here;
before a man looked at a tree and made a cross,
and felt the hammering rain and thought of nails
there must have been a first creative act.
First mark, first word, first hymn to awe,
first poem with something to say of the human heart,
first vision of a building taller than a forest,
aisled, vaulted, clerestoried with sunlight,
because we were forest-dwellers once
and learned our metaphors from trees.
A favourite...
To a Butterflyby William Wordsworth
I've watched you now a full half-hour;
Self-poised upon that yellow flower
And, little Butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless!--not frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!
This plot of orchard-ground is ours;
My trees they are, my Sister's flowers;
Here rest your wings when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough!
We'll talk of sunshine and of song,
And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.
* * * * *
Stay near me -- do not take thy flight!
A little longer stay in sight!
Much converse do I find in thee,
Historian of my infancy!
Float near me; do not yet depart!
Dead times revive in thee:
Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art!
A solemn image to my heart,
My father's family!
Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days,
The time, when, in our childish plays,
My sister Emmeline and I
Together chased the butterfly!
A very hunter did I rush
Upon the prey:--with leaps and springs
I followed on from brake to bush;
But she, God love her, feared to brush
The dust from off its wings.
---
My thanks to Bluestalking Reader for bringing this poem to my attention.... The photo is from a woods-wandering expedition I enjoyed last Wednesday in the Great Bois Wood here in Chesham.
Be
This between-space...
This breath between steps...
shall offer thee a window on what has gone before.
Look back.
Sweep thine eyes over the greenness of the valley,
the deep forest darkness that has sheltered thee,
the watery expanse that has carried thee here.
Cast your glance across the breadth of experience
that is you.
This between-space...
This warm and quiet embrace...
shall offer thee a vision of the future.
Look beyond and remember
what has not yet come to be.
Take me in your arms.
Spin me around the back of the moon.
Feel the tingling of stardust pass thee by
as we dance on a comet's trail,
skirting along the edge of quantum depths,
dipping and gliding through the shadows
of planets not yet born.
Take my hand...come with me beyond the universe...
back to where we have yet to begin.
But for now....
all that you need is here
in this between-space.
DLD/24JUL07
This breath between steps...
shall offer thee a window on what has gone before.
Look back.
Sweep thine eyes over the greenness of the valley,
the deep forest darkness that has sheltered thee,
the watery expanse that has carried thee here.
Cast your glance across the breadth of experience
that is you.
This between-space...
This warm and quiet embrace...
shall offer thee a vision of the future.
Look beyond and remember
what has not yet come to be.
Take me in your arms.
Spin me around the back of the moon.
Feel the tingling of stardust pass thee by
as we dance on a comet's trail,
skirting along the edge of quantum depths,
dipping and gliding through the shadows
of planets not yet born.
Take my hand...come with me beyond the universe...
back to where we have yet to begin.
But for now....
all that you need is here
in this between-space.
DLD/24JUL07
Sunday, July 22, 2007
What's Your Japanese Name?
My Japanese name is
猿渡 Saruwatari (monkey on a crossing bridge)
愛恵 Itoe (bless with love)
Click here to get yours!
(I kinda like mine... whaddya think???)
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Seasons
The seasons of my childhood
are remembered as distinct points in time.
Fall began early,
with new school clothes
(the only time of the year that we were allowed such a luxury),
and the bags of school supplies.
I was a school nerd.
I loved the smell of books and paper and pencils.
(Nothing has changed.)
Morning walks punctuated
with the crisp snap of thin ice
as we made our way gingerly over partially frozen puddles.
Water below, a skin of ice above.
What child could resist?
Winter was about snow....
that Northern Ontario snow
that packs perfectly for snowmen and snowcaves....
Caverns of ice between towering snowbanks,
a huddled refuge....
Blizzards that covered the naked world
in white lace petticoats...
playing indoor games --
Monopoly, Clue, Scrabble --
as icy gales whistled around the eaves.
Spring came with a scent.
Can you smell spring coming?
Crisp, clear, clean, new....
the snow retreats, melts, vanishes,
and the world comes to life.
Dust off the bikes and the roller skates,
put away the parkas till next year,
drag Dad to the park with a kite,
feel the wind on your face.
Summer brought camping and swimming,
picnics and berry-picking,
a hotness that dripped from your skin,
afternoons in the country.
Days of building tree forts,
chasing away intruders (boys!),
lying on our bellies in the field,
giggling when the grass tickled our arms,
reading Archie comics and slurping popsicles.
The rhythm of the seasons....
Somehow it was so much more clearly defined
as a child.
DLD/19JUL07
are remembered as distinct points in time.
Fall began early,
with new school clothes
(the only time of the year that we were allowed such a luxury),
and the bags of school supplies.
I was a school nerd.
I loved the smell of books and paper and pencils.
(Nothing has changed.)
Morning walks punctuated
with the crisp snap of thin ice
as we made our way gingerly over partially frozen puddles.
Water below, a skin of ice above.
What child could resist?
Winter was about snow....
that Northern Ontario snow
that packs perfectly for snowmen and snowcaves....
Caverns of ice between towering snowbanks,
a huddled refuge....
Blizzards that covered the naked world
in white lace petticoats...
playing indoor games --
Monopoly, Clue, Scrabble --
as icy gales whistled around the eaves.
Spring came with a scent.
Can you smell spring coming?
Crisp, clear, clean, new....
the snow retreats, melts, vanishes,
and the world comes to life.
Dust off the bikes and the roller skates,
put away the parkas till next year,
drag Dad to the park with a kite,
feel the wind on your face.
Summer brought camping and swimming,
picnics and berry-picking,
a hotness that dripped from your skin,
afternoons in the country.
Days of building tree forts,
chasing away intruders (boys!),
lying on our bellies in the field,
giggling when the grass tickled our arms,
reading Archie comics and slurping popsicles.
The rhythm of the seasons....
Somehow it was so much more clearly defined
as a child.
DLD/19JUL07
A Poem Is...
A poem is like the ocean tides...
rushing into my mind
with the force of a 50-foot wave
that crashes through all other thoughts
with impunity.
A poem is like a calm pool...
ideas and emotions
raised from the depths of intimacy,
floating free to the surface.
A poem is like waves on a sandy beach....
interconnected words that swirl and twirl,
rise and fall with the seasons of the moon,
and collect in shallow depressions of the soul.
DLD/19JUL07
rushing into my mind
with the force of a 50-foot wave
that crashes through all other thoughts
with impunity.
A poem is like a calm pool...
ideas and emotions
raised from the depths of intimacy,
floating free to the surface.
A poem is like waves on a sandy beach....
interconnected words that swirl and twirl,
rise and fall with the seasons of the moon,
and collect in shallow depressions of the soul.
DLD/19JUL07
The Stream
I walk by the stream of my future.
Too many choices, it seems,
tangled within filaments of intention...
I am led astray....
lost in possibilities.
Adrift, afloat...
vanished into a watery place,
the motion, the warmth,
soothes and comforts...
Submission.
Calmness prevails.
The struggle ends.
Consciousness is lost.
Shall I perish for want of finding
the one path....
the many paths...
that may lead me to the one that I can become.
Suddenly...
a voice....a hand....
gasping....grasping....
I emerge
whole.
* * * * *
Returning from the abyss
I follow the voice....unsure....
Dost thou await me here?
There are too many pieces
from which to build....to create....to become....
I collect them as I follow the voice beyond,
gathering them within the folds of my cloak,
but the puzzle is scattered to the winds...
and I can hear the laughter of the stars,
a sound as of dangling crystals
gently jostled in a summer's breeze.
For they alone see that we are already
selves fully born,
fully become as we are.
No further embellishment
is needed.
Is not thy courage strong?
Is not thy vision clear?
Is not thy heart pure?
Such are the lessons
that have brought us
here.
DLD/18JUL07
Too many choices, it seems,
tangled within filaments of intention...
I am led astray....
lost in possibilities.
Adrift, afloat...
vanished into a watery place,
the motion, the warmth,
soothes and comforts...
Submission.
Calmness prevails.
The struggle ends.
Consciousness is lost.
Shall I perish for want of finding
the one path....
the many paths...
that may lead me to the one that I can become.
Suddenly...
a voice....a hand....
gasping....grasping....
I emerge
whole.
* * * * *
Returning from the abyss
I follow the voice....unsure....
Dost thou await me here?
There are too many pieces
from which to build....to create....to become....
I collect them as I follow the voice beyond,
gathering them within the folds of my cloak,
but the puzzle is scattered to the winds...
and I can hear the laughter of the stars,
a sound as of dangling crystals
gently jostled in a summer's breeze.
For they alone see that we are already
selves fully born,
fully become as we are.
No further embellishment
is needed.
Is not thy courage strong?
Is not thy vision clear?
Is not thy heart pure?
Such are the lessons
that have brought us
here.
DLD/18JUL07
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Art thee God?
Art thee God?
I bring thee my clouded eyes.
They are no longer capable of
discerning the beauty
in a world so awash
with horror.
Art thee God?
I bring thee my broken mind.
I know not how to comprehend the tragedies
that have befallen Man,
as you have created him.
Art thee God?
I bring thee my shattered heart,
bloody and still beating, but torn in two,
damaged forever by the grief and anger
that have weighed down my spirit
and left me
desolate.
Art thee God?
Heal me.
DLD/18JUL07
I bring thee my clouded eyes.
They are no longer capable of
discerning the beauty
in a world so awash
with horror.
Art thee God?
I bring thee my broken mind.
I know not how to comprehend the tragedies
that have befallen Man,
as you have created him.
Art thee God?
I bring thee my shattered heart,
bloody and still beating, but torn in two,
damaged forever by the grief and anger
that have weighed down my spirit
and left me
desolate.
Art thee God?
Heal me.
DLD/18JUL07
Sunday, July 15, 2007
A Glimpse of Evil?
#37 - Brighton Rock, by Graham Greene
Finished 7/15/07
Rating: 5/5
Total Pages: 247
Reason for Reading: Recommended by a friend
REVIEW: I’ve been too distracted lately to properly take in the contents of such a deeply moving novel, but the further I read the more I was sucked into the world of gang warfare in 1930’s Brighton and the lives of Pinkie and his cohorts. The ending was surprising and horrific, and I’m left with a numbing sense of children playing at dangerous games. Pinkie, at age 17, lives in an agony of evil, murder, and the fear of discovery, which he covers up behind a façade of arrogance and aggression. I really must re-read this to pick up all the atmosphere and nuance that I missed in the beginning.
* * * * *
W A R N I N G - - - S P O I L E R S
Wow! The ending of this book was more powerful than any other I've read in a very long time. The last twenty pages were utterly gripping.
Right from the midpoint of the story, where Pinkie decides to marry Rose to prevent her from being able to testify against him, the romantic in me REALLY wanted him to truly fall in love and reform his evil ways. But of course, that was not to be. Pinkie wasn't able to love. He was so filled with a vile, horrific determination that nothing could cause him to stray from his self-destructive path.
Throughout the novel is an underlying subtext about Christianity and the fight between God and Satan. As the plot reaches a feverish apex, Pinkie convinces Rose that they will commit suicide together. He hands her a revolver. "Put it in your ear -- that'll hold it steady," he tells her. And he walks away, waiting for her to keep her part of the bargain.
Rose is torn between her love for Pinkie and her Christian morals and ethics. She struggles over what to do:
“If it was a guardian angel speaking to her now, he spoke like a devil – he tempted her to virtue like a sin.” [p. 241]
Rose, however, lives, and Pinkie is the one who dies:
“ ‘Stop him,’ Dallow cried: it wasn’t any good: he was at the edge, he was over: they couldn’t even hear a splash. It was as if he’d been withdrawn suddenly by a hand out of any existence – past or present, whipped away into zero – nothing.” [p. 243]
And neither of these events are as awful as the reader's realization of what Rose will discover not long after you have finished the last page and put the book away. A highly recommended read.
[An aside -- An interesting choice of names, don't you think? Pinkie and Rose? Why has Greene chose these shades of red? Blood? Hmmm.....]
Listening to: Something much much lighter.... Rock-Cha-Rhumba (Ray Anthony & His Orchestra), on iTunes Ill Street Lounge.... and trying to break free of the horror that I know awaits Rose.
Finished 7/15/07
Rating: 5/5
Total Pages: 247
Reason for Reading: Recommended by a friend
REVIEW: I’ve been too distracted lately to properly take in the contents of such a deeply moving novel, but the further I read the more I was sucked into the world of gang warfare in 1930’s Brighton and the lives of Pinkie and his cohorts. The ending was surprising and horrific, and I’m left with a numbing sense of children playing at dangerous games. Pinkie, at age 17, lives in an agony of evil, murder, and the fear of discovery, which he covers up behind a façade of arrogance and aggression. I really must re-read this to pick up all the atmosphere and nuance that I missed in the beginning.
* * * * *
W A R N I N G - - - S P O I L E R S
Wow! The ending of this book was more powerful than any other I've read in a very long time. The last twenty pages were utterly gripping.
Right from the midpoint of the story, where Pinkie decides to marry Rose to prevent her from being able to testify against him, the romantic in me REALLY wanted him to truly fall in love and reform his evil ways. But of course, that was not to be. Pinkie wasn't able to love. He was so filled with a vile, horrific determination that nothing could cause him to stray from his self-destructive path.
Throughout the novel is an underlying subtext about Christianity and the fight between God and Satan. As the plot reaches a feverish apex, Pinkie convinces Rose that they will commit suicide together. He hands her a revolver. "Put it in your ear -- that'll hold it steady," he tells her. And he walks away, waiting for her to keep her part of the bargain.
Rose is torn between her love for Pinkie and her Christian morals and ethics. She struggles over what to do:
“If it was a guardian angel speaking to her now, he spoke like a devil – he tempted her to virtue like a sin.” [p. 241]
Rose, however, lives, and Pinkie is the one who dies:
“ ‘Stop him,’ Dallow cried: it wasn’t any good: he was at the edge, he was over: they couldn’t even hear a splash. It was as if he’d been withdrawn suddenly by a hand out of any existence – past or present, whipped away into zero – nothing.” [p. 243]
And neither of these events are as awful as the reader's realization of what Rose will discover not long after you have finished the last page and put the book away. A highly recommended read.
[An aside -- An interesting choice of names, don't you think? Pinkie and Rose? Why has Greene chose these shades of red? Blood? Hmmm.....]
Listening to: Something much much lighter.... Rock-Cha-Rhumba (Ray Anthony & His Orchestra), on iTunes Ill Street Lounge.... and trying to break free of the horror that I know awaits Rose.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
The Quest
The forest engulfs.
Darkness obscures my path,
both behind and ahead.
Steel is sheathed at my side,
yet it glints still in the rays of the rising sun.
I have ridden far from thee this day,
yet my quest drags me onward
relentlessly...
and I dare not withdraw.
I crouch at the stream
(softly softly)
and give thanks
before assuaging my thirst,
then begin the task of
washing away the wounds.
Blood still stains my palms,
soaked through my leather gloves.
Too much of this blood is mine own, I fear.
As sleep overtakes me
I allow my mind to wander,
remembering...
the touch of your hand
the warmth of your smile
the beauty of our joining.
For only one brief moment,
I allow the ache for you
to emerge into consciousness,
the point no wider than a dagger's thrust,
but as deep as the blackness of beyond.
It will be long ere I see thee again.
Release.
I rest now.
There will be need again of my sword
ere night falls.
DLD/14JUL07
Darkness obscures my path,
both behind and ahead.
Steel is sheathed at my side,
yet it glints still in the rays of the rising sun.
I have ridden far from thee this day,
yet my quest drags me onward
relentlessly...
and I dare not withdraw.
I crouch at the stream
(softly softly)
and give thanks
before assuaging my thirst,
then begin the task of
washing away the wounds.
Blood still stains my palms,
soaked through my leather gloves.
Too much of this blood is mine own, I fear.
As sleep overtakes me
I allow my mind to wander,
remembering...
the touch of your hand
the warmth of your smile
the beauty of our joining.
For only one brief moment,
I allow the ache for you
to emerge into consciousness,
the point no wider than a dagger's thrust,
but as deep as the blackness of beyond.
It will be long ere I see thee again.
Release.
I rest now.
There will be need again of my sword
ere night falls.
DLD/14JUL07
miscellaneous snippets
Shall we be reborn
in an instant's reckoning?
Living beyond boundaries
both physical and temporal....
I dreamt once
of a young woman
who drew water from a wooden sluice.
Her burdens were many and her pleasures few.
As she aged,
her hands twisted and knotted
with unexpressed grief and anger,
and she laid on her deathbed,
with her family gathered 'round.
I dreamt once
of a young man
who overlooked the labours of many.
He strove to see the good in all,
yet witnessed a murder
that confronted him
with the reality of evil.
His life ended in fear and despair
as the wicked exacted their revenge.
These are only two
of those who comprise
the whole of me.
And all those who surrounded the woman and the man
in their separate lives and times
surround me still.
* * * * *
Broken, whole
Ebb and flow
Evil, good
Darkness to light
Happiness and grief...
All these define the edges
of our reality....
and we dance within the confines,
creating a lyrical web of complex threads
leading backwards and forwards,
and connecting us to...
all.
Is it an endless journey without reprieve?
I know not the answers nor the purpose,
yet I trust that all will come clear
in time.
I search for clarity, wisdom, peace....
I tread lightly through the forest.
I feel the wind at my back, pushing me ever forwards,
to a future both unknown and unknowable.
I rejoice in the beauty of all
and I dream beyond.
DLD/13JUL07
in an instant's reckoning?
Living beyond boundaries
both physical and temporal....
I dreamt once
of a young woman
who drew water from a wooden sluice.
Her burdens were many and her pleasures few.
As she aged,
her hands twisted and knotted
with unexpressed grief and anger,
and she laid on her deathbed,
with her family gathered 'round.
I dreamt once
of a young man
who overlooked the labours of many.
He strove to see the good in all,
yet witnessed a murder
that confronted him
with the reality of evil.
His life ended in fear and despair
as the wicked exacted their revenge.
These are only two
of those who comprise
the whole of me.
And all those who surrounded the woman and the man
in their separate lives and times
surround me still.
* * * * *
Broken, whole
Ebb and flow
Evil, good
Darkness to light
Happiness and grief...
All these define the edges
of our reality....
and we dance within the confines,
creating a lyrical web of complex threads
leading backwards and forwards,
and connecting us to...
all.
Is it an endless journey without reprieve?
I know not the answers nor the purpose,
yet I trust that all will come clear
in time.
I search for clarity, wisdom, peace....
I tread lightly through the forest.
I feel the wind at my back, pushing me ever forwards,
to a future both unknown and unknowable.
I rejoice in the beauty of all
and I dream beyond.
DLD/13JUL07
One Word
A meme that I lifted from both Bookfool and Tanabata, who apparently stole it from Bellezza, who got it from Paula, who copied it from Babelbabe, who.... Ya never know where the blogging world is gonna take you next.... :)
1. Where is your mobile phone? Hmmm.....
2. Relationship? Desired.
3. Your hair? Long.
4. Work? School.
5. Your sister(s)? Canada.
6. Your favourite thing? Music.
7. Your dream last night? Odd.
8. Your favourite drink? Coffee.
9. Your dream car? Limo.
10. The room you're in? Rented.
11. Your shoes? Flip-flops.
12. Your fears? Looming.
13. What do you want to be in 10 years? Peaceful.
14. Who will you hang out with this weekend? Poets.
15. What are you not good at? Deciding.
16. Muffin? Chocolate.
17. Wish list item? 71.
18. Where you grew up? Ontario.
19. The last thing you did? News.
20. What are you wearing? PJs.
21. What are you not wearing? Rings.
22. Your pet(s)? None.
23. Your computer? MacBook.
24. Your life? Crazy.
25. Your mood? Apprehensive.
26. Missing? Friends.
27. What are you thinking about? Grades.
28. Your car? Sold.
29. Your kitchen? Sold.
30. Your summer? Lazy.
31. Your favourite colour? Rainbow.
32. Last time you laughed? Yesterday.
33. Last time you cried? June.
34. School? LSE.
35. Love? Missing.
Listening to: You're My Thrill (Robert Palmer), from my Recommendation List at last.fm.
Thinking about: Downloading more forms....ugh.....
1. Where is your mobile phone? Hmmm.....
2. Relationship? Desired.
3. Your hair? Long.
4. Work? School.
5. Your sister(s)? Canada.
6. Your favourite thing? Music.
7. Your dream last night? Odd.
8. Your favourite drink? Coffee.
9. Your dream car? Limo.
10. The room you're in? Rented.
11. Your shoes? Flip-flops.
12. Your fears? Looming.
13. What do you want to be in 10 years? Peaceful.
14. Who will you hang out with this weekend? Poets.
15. What are you not good at? Deciding.
16. Muffin? Chocolate.
17. Wish list item? 71.
18. Where you grew up? Ontario.
19. The last thing you did? News.
20. What are you wearing? PJs.
21. What are you not wearing? Rings.
22. Your pet(s)? None.
23. Your computer? MacBook.
24. Your life? Crazy.
25. Your mood? Apprehensive.
26. Missing? Friends.
27. What are you thinking about? Grades.
28. Your car? Sold.
29. Your kitchen? Sold.
30. Your summer? Lazy.
31. Your favourite colour? Rainbow.
32. Last time you laughed? Yesterday.
33. Last time you cried? June.
34. School? LSE.
35. Love? Missing.
Listening to: You're My Thrill (Robert Palmer), from my Recommendation List at last.fm.
Thinking about: Downloading more forms....ugh.....
Friday, July 13, 2007
Between
I live life in
an in-between space...
not quite here,
yet no longer there....
everywhere
yet nowhere.
Between place
Between space
I look back
but the mists cloud my gaze.
My path has deviated
from centre...
Their vision tells them
that my future
has been left in the past...
but I know different.
Between time
Between lives
DLD/13JUL07
an in-between space...
not quite here,
yet no longer there....
everywhere
yet nowhere.
Between place
Between space
I look back
but the mists cloud my gaze.
My path has deviated
from centre...
Their vision tells them
that my future
has been left in the past...
but I know different.
Between time
Between lives
DLD/13JUL07
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Alive
Alive
within this imperfect body
within this restless heart
within this unquiet mind
lies a ferocious spirit.
Brook no resistance
against the demons of the past.
For they are weak and powerless.
They will gather and circle.
They will nip at your heels,
and fill your head with
noise and nonsense.
They will whine and whimper.
They will tell you stories
of their heartache and their sorrow.
They will show how you alone
have inflicted all of their wounds,
how you alone have caused
all of their grief and misery.
But the demons cannot penetrate
a determined countenance
and a resolute constancy....
Let them growl and grumble.
Watch them coalesce
and divide.
They cannot breach your ferocious spirit.
They have no power
but what you give them.
DLD/12JUL07
Listening to: Desert Rose (Sting).
Waiting for: Round two of grade conversion. Sigh.
within this imperfect body
within this restless heart
within this unquiet mind
lies a ferocious spirit.
Brook no resistance
against the demons of the past.
For they are weak and powerless.
They will gather and circle.
They will nip at your heels,
and fill your head with
noise and nonsense.
They will whine and whimper.
They will tell you stories
of their heartache and their sorrow.
They will show how you alone
have inflicted all of their wounds,
how you alone have caused
all of their grief and misery.
But the demons cannot penetrate
a determined countenance
and a resolute constancy....
Let them growl and grumble.
Watch them coalesce
and divide.
They cannot breach your ferocious spirit.
They have no power
but what you give them.
DLD/12JUL07
Listening to: Desert Rose (Sting).
Waiting for: Round two of grade conversion. Sigh.
Monday, July 09, 2007
sunbeam
once in awhile
nothing matters
but to breathe
and know the sun
welcome warmth
slides across skin
leaving shimmering trails
that lead nowhere
DLD/09JUL07
nothing matters
but to breathe
and know the sun
welcome warmth
slides across skin
leaving shimmering trails
that lead nowhere
DLD/09JUL07
Sunday, July 08, 2007
What if...?
What if love
could be bought
at the corner store...
It would be nestled
in a bed of white satin,
tucked into a striped box,
tied with a red ribbon,
and would cost
99 cents.
I would buy two.
DLD/08JUL07
could be bought
at the corner store...
It would be nestled
in a bed of white satin,
tucked into a striped box,
tied with a red ribbon,
and would cost
99 cents.
I would buy two.
DLD/08JUL07
Saturday, July 07, 2007
peace
occasionally i find it difficult
to leave the reverie
that sustains me
the inner world
the alone place
that pleases me so well
sometimes
everywhere else
is chaos
DLD/07JUL07
to leave the reverie
that sustains me
the inner world
the alone place
that pleases me so well
sometimes
everywhere else
is chaos
DLD/07JUL07
Friday, July 06, 2007
regret
remnants of past achievements
commemorated with engraved offerings...
drab photos in dusty frames...
faces that no one remembers
a heart heavy with regret...
dredged-up sorrows
that he can't forget
and he worries over
choices not made
paths not taken
patterns disconnected
memories uncollected
DLD/06JUL07
commemorated with engraved offerings...
drab photos in dusty frames...
faces that no one remembers
a heart heavy with regret...
dredged-up sorrows
that he can't forget
and he worries over
choices not made
paths not taken
patterns disconnected
memories uncollected
DLD/06JUL07
miscellaneous snippets
Occasionally, of an evening, I exchange poetry with a friend halfway around the world, in the nature of a poetic conversation. Here's my half of tonight's offerings... The asterisks indicate where his responses intervene. You're only getting half the conversation...for this I apologize, but all the words reprinted below are mine.
* * * * *
Within
lie all the seeds of the future
mixed amongst the remnants of the past....
Yet if time is subjective and irrelevant,
then how does it all fit?
Perhaps there is no progression
no forward movement
no growth....
but only
being.
* * * * *
Being
is the essence
of all.
We are one and the same,
joined yet separate.
We are here always
and never.
Knowledge is as close as our fingertips,
and as distant as the stars....
as vast as all the galaxies that have ever existed
(never existed)
yet abides forever and entirely complete...
in the petal of a rose,
the wisp of a breeze,
a child's giggle,
a grain of sand.
It is all there for you.
Reach out and ask.
It shall be yours.
Time
in all its manifestations
cannot erase
the experience of
being.
Being is all.
* * * * *
Examining too closely
makes us blind to the larger truths
and immune to the beauty of the whole.
Shall we ever remember
the magic that has brought us
in reverence and humility
to this sacred place where we sit
amongst the confusion,
watching the world go by,
and wondering why.
It is a calmness within the storm
of man's inhumanity....
to his fellow man
to the planet
to the universe
....to himself....
It is an oasis.
Invite others to drink.
Share this space in spirit and in soul,
and you shall be renewed as well.
It is a place
to experience
hope.
* * * * *
Open to all is the goal....
Open to learning,
Open to acceptance,
Open to knowledge,
Open to humanity,
Open to love
and life.
Yet in remaining open
we expose our soft underbelly
to those who would wish us harm.
For evil walks the earth in frightful disguise.
Brothers killing brothers.
The innocent perish,
and the evil care not.
All of humanity should weep
for such atrocities.
Hatred and despair are the rivers
that threaten to consume,
yet we must not allow these waters
to overtake us.
Neglect of soul and spirit.
The scourge of the modern world.
How shall we overcome?
Perseverance.
We are few in number,
but strong in desire,
and our message is powerful
beyond the imaginings
of all time.
Yet I wonder...
Will it be enough?
* * * * *
Sacrifice
I give myself up
to the power of
She who understands.
I find comfort and strength
where mine enemies seek it not....
amongst trees and meadows and
gently flowing streams....
amongst starshine and moonglow
and the wisdom of the universe....
and within the knowledge that old souls
(whoever they are and wherever they may be)
surround and protect me
with brotherhood and solidarity.
I sense the disappearance of our innocence
amongst the bombs and the destruction and the explosions and the hatred.
Yet we are safe within the oasis
that reminds me of lost loves
that are not lost at all.
How can they be lost,
when in truth they have been found?
They are ever-present....
in the flight of a thousand butterflies,
in the scent of the salt spray,
in the touch of a gentle breeze upon my skin,
in the forest shadows that I treasure,
in the paths that lead me forward.
This is from whence
my true self arises.
None can follow here
but truth.
* * * * *
DLD/05JUL07
* * * * *
Within
lie all the seeds of the future
mixed amongst the remnants of the past....
Yet if time is subjective and irrelevant,
then how does it all fit?
Perhaps there is no progression
no forward movement
no growth....
but only
being.
* * * * *
Being
is the essence
of all.
We are one and the same,
joined yet separate.
We are here always
and never.
Knowledge is as close as our fingertips,
and as distant as the stars....
as vast as all the galaxies that have ever existed
(never existed)
yet abides forever and entirely complete...
in the petal of a rose,
the wisp of a breeze,
a child's giggle,
a grain of sand.
It is all there for you.
Reach out and ask.
It shall be yours.
Time
in all its manifestations
cannot erase
the experience of
being.
Being is all.
* * * * *
Examining too closely
makes us blind to the larger truths
and immune to the beauty of the whole.
Shall we ever remember
the magic that has brought us
in reverence and humility
to this sacred place where we sit
amongst the confusion,
watching the world go by,
and wondering why.
It is a calmness within the storm
of man's inhumanity....
to his fellow man
to the planet
to the universe
....to himself....
It is an oasis.
Invite others to drink.
Share this space in spirit and in soul,
and you shall be renewed as well.
It is a place
to experience
hope.
* * * * *
Open to all is the goal....
Open to learning,
Open to acceptance,
Open to knowledge,
Open to humanity,
Open to love
and life.
Yet in remaining open
we expose our soft underbelly
to those who would wish us harm.
For evil walks the earth in frightful disguise.
Brothers killing brothers.
The innocent perish,
and the evil care not.
All of humanity should weep
for such atrocities.
Hatred and despair are the rivers
that threaten to consume,
yet we must not allow these waters
to overtake us.
Neglect of soul and spirit.
The scourge of the modern world.
How shall we overcome?
Perseverance.
We are few in number,
but strong in desire,
and our message is powerful
beyond the imaginings
of all time.
Yet I wonder...
Will it be enough?
* * * * *
Sacrifice
I give myself up
to the power of
She who understands.
I find comfort and strength
where mine enemies seek it not....
amongst trees and meadows and
gently flowing streams....
amongst starshine and moonglow
and the wisdom of the universe....
and within the knowledge that old souls
(whoever they are and wherever they may be)
surround and protect me
with brotherhood and solidarity.
I sense the disappearance of our innocence
amongst the bombs and the destruction and the explosions and the hatred.
Yet we are safe within the oasis
that reminds me of lost loves
that are not lost at all.
How can they be lost,
when in truth they have been found?
They are ever-present....
in the flight of a thousand butterflies,
in the scent of the salt spray,
in the touch of a gentle breeze upon my skin,
in the forest shadows that I treasure,
in the paths that lead me forward.
This is from whence
my true self arises.
None can follow here
but truth.
* * * * *
DLD/05JUL07
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Redemption (i)
She ambled through the mysterious city
carrying all of her necessaries
in a patchwork-quilted bag
tossed carelessly over her left shoulder.
She marvelled at the magnificence all around her,
but she no longer knew who she was.
Sometimes she collapsed
under the weight of the shattered voices
that cast out the ribbons to ensnare her,
to bind her, to drag her back
to a place that no longer existed.
And as she wandered the strange streets of her new life,
lost amongst the steel and glass towers of the daring,
she paused to pick up pieces of her lost self.
Some were familiar and recognizable,
others were exotic and extraordinary.
At the end of the day,
ensconced in her tiny room,
surrounded by the seeds of newness,
she puzzled over how it all went together.
And even when the light grew dim
and none of the pieces fit,
she continued to collect and save them,
sorting them carefully into boxes labelled,
"Strength"...."Confidence"...."Determination"
And she used the trailing ribbons
to tie the boxes shut.
DLD/05JUL07
carrying all of her necessaries
in a patchwork-quilted bag
tossed carelessly over her left shoulder.
She marvelled at the magnificence all around her,
but she no longer knew who she was.
Sometimes she collapsed
under the weight of the shattered voices
that cast out the ribbons to ensnare her,
to bind her, to drag her back
to a place that no longer existed.
And as she wandered the strange streets of her new life,
lost amongst the steel and glass towers of the daring,
she paused to pick up pieces of her lost self.
Some were familiar and recognizable,
others were exotic and extraordinary.
At the end of the day,
ensconced in her tiny room,
surrounded by the seeds of newness,
she puzzled over how it all went together.
And even when the light grew dim
and none of the pieces fit,
she continued to collect and save them,
sorting them carefully into boxes labelled,
"Strength"...."Confidence"...."Determination"
And she used the trailing ribbons
to tie the boxes shut.
DLD/05JUL07
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Escape (iii)
And she flew away on borrowed wings.
Every time she checked
(trying to be as unobtrusive as possible),
the ribbons of self-reproach had again become entangled,
tripping up her feet and twisting amongst her heartstrings.
Each time, she quickly snatched up the errant threads,
tore them from their new moorings,
and buried them under future details.
From her satchel, she retrieved a book
with an unadorned cover of soft brown leather
and a delicate ribbon of red silk to mark her page.
She reached into her pocket for the weighted fountain pen
that perfectly fit her grasp.
She opened to the first page
and began to write.
For a day and a night and yet another day
the words poured from her pen,
like drops of blood from her fingertips.
DLD/03JUL07
Every time she checked
(trying to be as unobtrusive as possible),
the ribbons of self-reproach had again become entangled,
tripping up her feet and twisting amongst her heartstrings.
Each time, she quickly snatched up the errant threads,
tore them from their new moorings,
and buried them under future details.
From her satchel, she retrieved a book
with an unadorned cover of soft brown leather
and a delicate ribbon of red silk to mark her page.
She reached into her pocket for the weighted fountain pen
that perfectly fit her grasp.
She opened to the first page
and began to write.
For a day and a night and yet another day
the words poured from her pen,
like drops of blood from her fingertips.
DLD/03JUL07
Escape (ii)
She stood in line at the airport,
a pair of sunglasses with scratched lenses
dangling from her mouth,
while she absentmindedly checked her pockets,
wondering which one contained her passport.
The clerk glanced contemptuously at her small battered valise.
It wasn't sturdy enough to imprison the demons of her past,
and appeared far too humble to hold
the seeds of a new start.
She hefted the worn suitcase onto the conveyor belt,
then gathered up the incessant unending threads of guilt and unfulfilled obligations.
She impatiently stuffed the lot of them into her purse in a tangled mess.
"Snakes' honeymoon," she whispered,
not quite only to herself,
with a lopsided almost smile.
She narrowly dodged the barbed claws,
soaked overnight in sanctimonious retribution,
and said, "Anywhere. It doesn't matter."
The signature on the back of her credit card
was faded almost beyond recognition.
DLD/02JUL07
a pair of sunglasses with scratched lenses
dangling from her mouth,
while she absentmindedly checked her pockets,
wondering which one contained her passport.
The clerk glanced contemptuously at her small battered valise.
It wasn't sturdy enough to imprison the demons of her past,
and appeared far too humble to hold
the seeds of a new start.
She hefted the worn suitcase onto the conveyor belt,
then gathered up the incessant unending threads of guilt and unfulfilled obligations.
She impatiently stuffed the lot of them into her purse in a tangled mess.
"Snakes' honeymoon," she whispered,
not quite only to herself,
with a lopsided almost smile.
She narrowly dodged the barbed claws,
soaked overnight in sanctimonious retribution,
and said, "Anywhere. It doesn't matter."
The signature on the back of her credit card
was faded almost beyond recognition.
DLD/02JUL07
What the heck was that???
#36 - Flaubert’s Parrot, by Julian Barnes
Finished 7/3/07
Rating: 3/5
Total Pages: 190
Reason for Reading: Recommended by a friend / Booker Prize shortlist 1984
REVIEW: A postmodernist novel that mostly pretends to be a biography of Gustave Flaubert and the documentation of the search for an identity-challenged stuffed parrot (yes, you read that right...*smirk*), but it occasionally slips into seemingly unwitting descriptions of the narrator’s own confused psychology and search for personal meaning in the midst of apparent chaos. Which is the true story? What is the real purpose of the book? I can’t answer that. I found the book odd and intriguing, but ultimately unexplainable.
Listening to: The Cradlesong (Sacred Spirit), on iTunes SKY.FM - New Age.
Thrilled with: Amazon.co.uk and my mailman, whose combined efforts made me smile. Tossed through my mailslot today....three films (Crash, Little Children, Rabbit-Proof Fence) and one book (The Lathe of Heaven, by Ursula K. LeGuin). YAY!
Finished 7/3/07
Rating: 3/5
Total Pages: 190
Reason for Reading: Recommended by a friend / Booker Prize shortlist 1984
REVIEW: A postmodernist novel that mostly pretends to be a biography of Gustave Flaubert and the documentation of the search for an identity-challenged stuffed parrot (yes, you read that right...*smirk*), but it occasionally slips into seemingly unwitting descriptions of the narrator’s own confused psychology and search for personal meaning in the midst of apparent chaos. Which is the true story? What is the real purpose of the book? I can’t answer that. I found the book odd and intriguing, but ultimately unexplainable.
Listening to: The Cradlesong (Sacred Spirit), on iTunes SKY.FM - New Age.
Thrilled with: Amazon.co.uk and my mailman, whose combined efforts made me smile. Tossed through my mailslot today....three films (Crash, Little Children, Rabbit-Proof Fence) and one book (The Lathe of Heaven, by Ursula K. LeGuin). YAY!
Monday, July 02, 2007
More Giggles
Bookfool had me in stitches this morning with her post "What Happens When a Bookfool Can't Sleep...."
You may have seen this making the rounds (I have too), but -- having too much time on my hands this morning (also see my previous post) -- today is the day to find out what Google thinks I need. Here's the drill: Type your name into a Google search window, followed by the word "needs", and see what comes up. :)
First off, let me tell you I'm very unique indeed, because my "CdnReader" persona pulled up absolutely nothing, zilch, nada. So, like Bookfool, I tried out my own real name. Here's The Top Eight Things that Donna Needs.... [drum roll please]...
1. Donna needs two hands to keep things steady. (I could actually use more than two.)
2. Donna needs a good crowding. (Huh? Yowzas!)
3. Donna needs to be reined in now. (Not true. I should have been reined in about 50 years ago. Now is MUCH too late.)
4. Donna needs bloggers' help. (See? Told ya!)
5. Donna needs Your Help NOW! (What's the hold-up?)
6. Donna needs votes in some election somewhere. (Hmmm....wonder what I'm running for?)
7. Donna urgently needs to be transferred to The Elephant Sanctuary in Tennessee where she can walk and roam on soft ground, graze on fresh vegetation, swim and play in lakes and ponds, and live out her natural behaviours like an elephant is supposed to do. (OK, if this one didn't make you spew coffee all over your computer screen, your sense of humour needs a tune-up.)
8. Donna needs to go. (Yup! I'm outta here! Bye!)
* * * * *
P.S. I should probably just stick to my CdnReader personality, who apparently needs nothing whatsoever -- complete and perfect as is. Hah!!
You may have seen this making the rounds (I have too), but -- having too much time on my hands this morning (also see my previous post) -- today is the day to find out what Google thinks I need. Here's the drill: Type your name into a Google search window, followed by the word "needs", and see what comes up. :)
First off, let me tell you I'm very unique indeed, because my "CdnReader" persona pulled up absolutely nothing, zilch, nada. So, like Bookfool, I tried out my own real name. Here's The Top Eight Things that Donna Needs.... [drum roll please]...
1. Donna needs two hands to keep things steady. (I could actually use more than two.)
2. Donna needs a good crowding. (Huh? Yowzas!)
3. Donna needs to be reined in now. (Not true. I should have been reined in about 50 years ago. Now is MUCH too late.)
4. Donna needs bloggers' help. (See? Told ya!)
5. Donna needs Your Help NOW! (What's the hold-up?)
6. Donna needs votes in some election somewhere. (Hmmm....wonder what I'm running for?)
7. Donna urgently needs to be transferred to The Elephant Sanctuary in Tennessee where she can walk and roam on soft ground, graze on fresh vegetation, swim and play in lakes and ponds, and live out her natural behaviours like an elephant is supposed to do. (OK, if this one didn't make you spew coffee all over your computer screen, your sense of humour needs a tune-up.)
8. Donna needs to go. (Yup! I'm outta here! Bye!)
* * * * *
P.S. I should probably just stick to my CdnReader personality, who apparently needs nothing whatsoever -- complete and perfect as is. Hah!!
You know you've been surfing too long when....
I've been cooped up too long. For sure. :)
So this morning, I'm playing with my Google Reader settings. (Aside: Do you use Google Reader? If not, what is your preferred technique for cycling through the blogs you read?) Now, all of you who have been blogging for sometime already can stop reading here, because you probably already know all about this, but HEY! I'm still new, and discovering wondrously funny stuff! *grin*
So Google has this very cool button called "Next >>" that you can mount on your bookmark bar (is this only for Macintosh? ... no idea). So instead of clicking on individual blogs in the left-hand column of the Reader, I can just click "Next >>" and Firefox automatically cycles to the next unread entry. I wondered what would happen when I'd read all the new items. Here's what came up....
* * * * *
Congratulations, you've reached the End of the Internet .
* * * * *
Ohhhhh-kaaaaaaay..... Well, I certainly couldn't resist that link..... Go ahead.... click it. You know you wanna.... :P
I think there should be one more line at the end that says: "Donna really needs to get out more." Cuz I laughed my fool head off.....
So this morning, I'm playing with my Google Reader settings. (Aside: Do you use Google Reader? If not, what is your preferred technique for cycling through the blogs you read?) Now, all of you who have been blogging for sometime already can stop reading here, because you probably already know all about this, but HEY! I'm still new, and discovering wondrously funny stuff! *grin*
So Google has this very cool button called "Next >>" that you can mount on your bookmark bar (is this only for Macintosh? ... no idea). So instead of clicking on individual blogs in the left-hand column of the Reader, I can just click "Next >>" and Firefox automatically cycles to the next unread entry. I wondered what would happen when I'd read all the new items. Here's what came up....
* * * * *
Congratulations, you've reached the End of the Internet .
* * * * *
Ohhhhh-kaaaaaaay..... Well, I certainly couldn't resist that link..... Go ahead.... click it. You know you wanna.... :P
I think there should be one more line at the end that says: "Donna really needs to get out more." Cuz I laughed my fool head off.....
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Escape
She packed her heartache
into a battered leather valise with
scuffed-up edges and a broken lock,
and left.
Her past trailed out behind her
in long ribbons of barely acknowledged resentment
and unexpressed sorrow.
She surged into the unknown
with hardly a backward glance,
pushing her hair into place and adjusting her collar,
on the outside chance
that someone might notice
and give her a break.
DLD/01JUL07
into a battered leather valise with
scuffed-up edges and a broken lock,
and left.
Her past trailed out behind her
in long ribbons of barely acknowledged resentment
and unexpressed sorrow.
She surged into the unknown
with hardly a backward glance,
pushing her hair into place and adjusting her collar,
on the outside chance
that someone might notice
and give her a break.
DLD/01JUL07
fire
heat rises
invisible clouds
oppressive, angry yet
the forest lies
singed, burnt, smoking
ghostly trunks
brittle white
the forest now fragile
branches insubstantial
ashes drift,
settle
silence
DLD/01JUL07
invisible clouds
oppressive, angry yet
the forest lies
singed, burnt, smoking
ghostly trunks
brittle white
the forest now fragile
branches insubstantial
ashes drift,
settle
silence
DLD/01JUL07
Listening to....
Stay
by Colin James
I see the clock wound down
I watch you look away
But I’ll never get used to it, at the end of the day
In a different world
In another life
The time would stop
And you'd stay all night
Sun down
And I’m feeling this strain
Can’t you see it, in the lines on my face?
(chorus)
It’s tearing me up
And breaking me down
Every time you go
You’re dragging my love around
Maybe this once
You better think twice
Stay with me tonight
Stay
Yeah...
I see the hours pass
And the see through heat
As we ease down our defenses
Slip into this mystery
There’s a world unknown
There’s so much at stake
As we search for a way, to make up for all this heart ache
Sometimes I feel I’m falling from grace
But every hour takes you farther and farther away
(chorus x3)
by Colin James
I see the clock wound down
I watch you look away
But I’ll never get used to it, at the end of the day
In a different world
In another life
The time would stop
And you'd stay all night
Sun down
And I’m feeling this strain
Can’t you see it, in the lines on my face?
(chorus)
It’s tearing me up
And breaking me down
Every time you go
You’re dragging my love around
Maybe this once
You better think twice
Stay with me tonight
Stay
Yeah...
I see the hours pass
And the see through heat
As we ease down our defenses
Slip into this mystery
There’s a world unknown
There’s so much at stake
As we search for a way, to make up for all this heart ache
Sometimes I feel I’m falling from grace
But every hour takes you farther and farther away
(chorus x3)
silhouettes
the darkness of the universe
filters through the light
dimly lit shapes
(shadows still)
emerge
merge
become
the visual
create
the reality
that we view
nothing exists
without the light
the light exists not
without the darkness
DLD/01JUL07
filters through the light
dimly lit shapes
(shadows still)
emerge
merge
become
the visual
create
the reality
that we view
nothing exists
without the light
the light exists not
without the darkness
DLD/01JUL07
washed away
washed away
by waves that overpower
crashing louder
deeper, farther
beyond
sound explodes
reverberations echo
pulled past safety
water swirls around ankles and wrists
bonds of fluidity
grasp with rigidity
dragged into the
unknown
there is no respite
water surrounds
i drown
DLD/30JUN07
by waves that overpower
crashing louder
deeper, farther
beyond
sound explodes
reverberations echo
pulled past safety
water swirls around ankles and wrists
bonds of fluidity
grasp with rigidity
dragged into the
unknown
there is no respite
water surrounds
i drown
DLD/30JUN07
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