You are here to be swallowed up

Peedeel's Blog

Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.

Louise Erdrich
The Painted Drum

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MoonDay Musings: Begin anywhere

Inner Journey Events Blog

For those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, Samhain has just passed, marking the end of one journey and the beginning of a new spiral journey in the Wheel of the Year. For many of us, this is a time to look back at where we have been in the last year — what we harvested, what we learned, for what we are grateful — and to look ahead to our journey in this new year, perhaps planting seeds for new goals or new directions.

I like to use this time between Samhain and Winter Solstice to dig deep into my thoughts and experiences, and look at them with fresh eyes with a view to new beginnings. I plant my seeds in my Inner Garden — my Wise Inner Self — for germinating and growing when the light returns with Winter Solstice.

I see this as not dissimilar to the…

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Wreck

Great poetry on this blog.

Sunday Sonnet … on Monday Morning

I was so busy doing other things yesterday that I completely forgot about the Sunday Sonnet. My apologies!

This week’s sonnet is by Geraldine Monk. I know little about her except that she is from Britain. The only work I have by her is in The Reality Street Book of Sonnets, a selection from her book Ghost & Other Sonnets.

None of the poems are titled. I like that there’s always a couplet at the end & I really love the internal rhyming. I plan to find more of her poems. She’s on my list as of right now.

I was attracted to this poem because of the Patsy Cline reference & because I knew what song she was talking about.

References

Monk, Geraldine. Sonnet from “Ghosts & Other Sonnets”. The Reality Street Book of Sonnets. edited by Jeff Hilson. Hastings, East Sussex: Reality Street Editions, 2008. page 204.

Saturday Caturday

It’s a quiet Saturday afternoon here in North Buffalo. I’ve just had a delicious lunch of homemade cream of mushroom soup & Luigi’s Italian bread & now I’m going through a box of decorations. Lights will be up tonight!

Usually the cats are right in with this kind of activity but not today! Where are they? ZZZZZZZing! As you can see, Jack & Bobby are on the bed & Radar is cozy in one of the boxes.

photograph © polly macdavid

Jane Clare Jones – Female Class Politics

Huitain Notes

From the Back of the Wardrobe

A very old French verse form the Huitain consists of one eight-line stanza composed of ten-syllable lines. The verse is written over three rhymes and the two popular rhyme schemes are as follows:
ababbcbc
and
abbaacac

Example

Be thou like a rose by Ryter Roethicle

Be thou like a Rose my beloved
Let not thy thorns keep me away.
When I see thee I am resolved
So pray hold me and bid me stay.
My hasty actions thus betray
Thy womanly scent has drawn me,
Now drawn, and for my actions pay.
So helpless like the worker bee

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I’m only now starting to fully understand is that this is an inside job. It only works if I believe.

Live & Learn

But what I’m only now starting to fully understand is that this is an inside job. It only works if I believe. I’ve always been confident, positive, doggedly determined; but doubt is beginning to mitigate my conviction. Who am I to think I can accomplish this, when so many have struggled with similar setbacks; some with Parkinson’s, some with the aftermath of spinal surgery? I may be the only one who has taken on this particular two-headed beast…

I have to learn to walk again; to reclaim my mobility, remaster my motion. I consider this fundamental to my therapy —  for me, it all starts and ends with walking. And I understand that it’s more complicated than that. So many tiny disciplines have to be observed, and neglected muscles and ligaments need to be restored. I’m exhausted by the effort I’ve already put in at Johns Hopkins, and daunted by…

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And the days are not full enough

Peedeel's Blog

And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
Not shaking the grass

Ezra Pound

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Poetry Showcase: Austin Poets’ Union

SkywayJournal

Woman walking gripping a bottle of Mad Dog

By Angie Dribben

Early afternoon in Idaho’s March, snow

pressed against curbs against houses

against snowbanks against our backs.

Everywhere paths narrowed.

Some days she stands

on the corner screaming at someone unseen.

Her stabbing finger removes wind from air.

I know someone is there because sometimes

I yell like this too. A strip of pink

in her hair, a streak of hope, necessary.

How easy it is to slip into faith for a half hour,

long enough to paint your hair pretty,

believe that there will be more.

I know what it is to believe in forever-even-after

a husband gives reason to curl up in a closet,

hold breath until organs fail and it all turns blue,

after the first rape or the last

man who gives no choice

but to leave for nowhere, except a corner

of cold in winter…

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