Life Is A Gift

Connecting Beyond

Do any of us perceive
what the future holds?
No.

Thus, live this day
as though your last.

Cease the grouching
and smile instead.

Why would you want to
spend perhaps your
very last day
with a frown and a curse
when you could very well have
a wide smile
upon your precious face?

Life is such a Gift!
Do yourself a favor and
live it as such.
~~~~~

All special effects done in Topaz Studio with the exception of the last image. Only Photoshop was used to enhance what I intended to create.

Photography/ “Life Is A Gift”/ Sept. 2019©AmyRose Photography
http://www.herladypinkrose.wordpress.com

View original post

On the bull semen explosion, animal husbandry, and how medieval people were nicer to cows

I’m telling you, life was better back then, at least for cows & probably for people too

Going Medieval

Because I like to talk about the fact that I can connect almost any event to the medieval period, and I am indebted to all my lovely readers and bound to give them the high-grade content that they crave, this week we have a bit of a … weird one. Why? Well, I was mentioning to the good Dr Öberg Strådal that I needed to write you all a blog, and it was then that she challenged me to talk about the bull semen plant explosion. So buckle up, kittens.


View original post 1,641 more words

What Lot’s wife would have said (if she wasn’t a pillar of salt)

The best thing you will read today

Peedeel's Blog

Do you remember when we met
in Gomorrah? When you were still beardless,
and I would oil my hair in the lamp light before seeing
you, when we were young, and blushed with youth
like bruised fruit. Did we care then
what our neighbours did
in the dark?

When our first daughter was born
on the River Jordan, when our second
cracked her pink head from my body
like a promise, did we worry
what our friends might be
doing with their tongues?

What new crevices they found
to lick love into or strange flesh
to push pleasure from, when we
called them Sodomites then,
all we meant by it
was neighbour.

When the angels told us to run
from the city, I went with you,
but even the angels knew
that women always look back.
Let me describe for you, Lot,
what your city looked like burning
since you…

View original post 133 more words

Hallows Coming – Donne

I love Donne.

The Professor's Convatorium

From the previous post and continuing through November 1st, I am doing a Hallows theme. A life to death and death to life. These coming weeks, a season’s Hallow, to  “Día de Muertos”…the Day of the Dead when the living must dance with the dead.

————

W - Nemo font_halloweenhen by thy scorn, O murd’ress, I am dead
And that thou think’st thee free
From all solicitation from me,
Then shall my ghost come to thy bed,
And thee, feign’d vestal, in worse arms shall see;
Then thy sick taper will begin to wink,
And he, whose thou art then, being tir’d before,
Will, if thou stir, or pinch to wake him, think
Thou call’st for more,
And in false sleep will from thee shrink;
And then, poor aspen wretch, neglected thou
Bath’d in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lie
A verier ghost than I.
What I will say, I will not tell…

View original post 138 more words

Every Girl Needs

TRUTH.

hecatedemeter

  1.  You need a secret stash of money.  Sadly, it can’t be in a bank or investment account, because you will have to report that on your taxes, or when you apply for a mortgage, or when you buy a car, or whatever.  This is a stash of money that your partner does not know about.  Women in my mother’s generation used to shave a little bit off the “grocery allowance” that their husbands gave them.  It’s the money you will use to get away from him if he’s abusive, to pay for an abortion if he gets you pregnant, to help out your sister when he says, “No, she should have stayed with her abusive boyfriend.”  In the end, he’ll die before you and you can use the money for a lovely headstone and perpetual flowers.
  2. Don’t let him take that picture and don’t you take it and send it…

View original post 467 more words

Somber not Sad

Sun in Gemini

A second on an icy breeze

A chill that fears no coat

A fading colour unafraid

Of its own transition floats

From the order of formed green

To the falling of bronze

The collecting whisper

Is the voice of the colder wind

North of the east and south of the west

Nothing turns bad

Culling life-magic, living no death

Is somber not sad

©Stephen Tanham

View original post